


Cheer Up, Buttercup

by bookwhimses



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: A-spec Dirk Gently, Accept Yourself! Love Yourself!, Alternate Universe, Autistic Dirk Gently, Bath Store AU, Chronic Illness, Dirk is throwing himself at Todd and Todd is ... doing his best, Flirting, Fluff, Guilt, Heartfelt examination of the complex road to healing and confidence I guess, Hurt/Comfort, IWannaGetBetterbyBleachers.mp3, Introspection, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pararibulitis (Dirk Gently), Pining, References to Queer Eye, Self Care, Slow Burn, fic is completely drafted and I'll publish a chapter each week, god so much flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-05-14 18:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 103,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19278535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwhimses/pseuds/bookwhimses
Summary: “Oh, listen to Dirk. He’s a bathing goods psychic.”“I am not a psychic. I simply don’t always concern myself with such petty things as employee protocol and company script. I see the solution to each customer’s needs as being detectable in the pattern and web of the whole. The connections between bathing rituals and physical-mental health are often much more subtle and complex than we, with our rough and ready understanding of cocoa butter, might naturally suppose.”-Todd goes into a bath bomb store to get a present for Amanda and meets an overeager sales assistant. Self-examination, and - dare I say it - romance ensues.





	1. You Came Into My Life

**Author's Note:**

> The bath store featured in this fic is probably extremely obvious for anyone familiar with it or its reputation, but this fic already reads like a shill story so I left the name out and kept things thinly veiled.

“Hi-iiii-iii!”

It makes for a pretty terrible first impression. Here’s Todd, minding his own goddamn business in this stupid bath store, trying with every inch of his being to give off a vibe that says ‘ _nobody look at me or I will spontaneously combust_ ,’ when a man bounds out from behind the counter, smiles blithely, and proceeds to stretch ‘hi’ into at least three syllables. He follows it up with Todd’s least favorite sentence to hear in public.

“Anything I can help you with, or just browsing?”

 _He doesn’t need to say it like that_ , Todd thinks reproachfully. _As if he_ means  _it, really and truly._

So he’s a little terse when he replies with his line of the customer-employee shopping script, “Just browsing. Thanks.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you like – though you should know that we’re having a _huge_ sale on massage bars. You know, if you wanted to get something ... special. For someone special.” The man, who has the kind of face that better suits the word ‘boy,’ waggles his eyebrows at Todd.

Todd forces himself not to visibly recoil, or perhaps burst into what would be very embittered laughter. “Uh, no. Thanks.”

He tries to melt away, stepping around the shop’s central display, which is a double-sided island of shelves, lined with crates filled with heavily scented bathing goods. He wills his body to camouflage into the rows of fluorescent yellow and acid green.

The shop assistant says something vague and obnoxiously cheery and leaves him to it, never bothering Todd again. At least, that’s what Todd assumes is happening – an assumption which soon turns out to be hopelessly naive.

“Ooh, that’s one of my favourites!” The assistant re-materialisesnext to him as Todd doubtfully eyes a tray of something bright blue. “It turns the water so blue that you’d think you were the middle of the ocean. Not that I’ve never been in the middle of the ocean, of course. Certainly not on a perilously dodgy raft surrounded by the circling fins of ravenous sharks.” The assistant pauses to take a breath, and to shove a shopping basket into Todd’s hands. “Just came over to bring you this. It’s wrong for you, though.”

Todd struggles to catch up. “Then why did you bring it to ...?”

“What? Oh, no, not the basket, the bath bomb – do keep up, sir,” the assistant scolds him, effectively stunning Todd into a silence that lasts long enough for the assistant to launch into another small monologue. “No, this one has a high level of salt in it and salt would wreak havoc on your skin, which is already tending towards dry. Though it’s a pity, because the blue would bring out your eyes. But, no – you need something that will moisturize ... Aha, this one. It’s a lot softer – _trust_ me, you’ll thank me for it later.”

Todd stares at the thing which the assistant has dropped in his basket, which is cream-colored and shaped like a milk bottle with a glittery silver bottle-cap. He also stares at _him_ , this apparition with the innocently impudent mouth.

He wears the uniform of the store; black jeans, black shoes, black t-shirt, black apron, all liberally covered in streaks of multi-colored glitter, which has also made it to his face and seems to be deliberately if clumsily applied to his left cheekbone. His reddish-brownish hair is also be-glittered, and ruffled by the brightly patterned scarf he wears on his head, twisted into a complicated sort of knot. This too, is covered in glitter, as is the nametag pinned to his chest that reads ‘ _DIRK !!! he/him/his_.’ The tag is clearly handmade, if the barely legible handwriting is any indication, or the peeling, rectangular sticker banded with black, gray, white, and purple.

“Um,” is all Todd can say as he struggles to take it all in. “Thanks, but it’s not for me. It’s for my sister.”

Todd never would have crossed the threshold of this glitter-infested scent-bomb of a store if it weren’t for Amanda. Amanda, who can’t leave the house without having an attack that will leave her almost entirely bedridden for days afterwards. Amanda, who loves stupid things like sparkly bath bombs and strawberry-scented shower gel, who had talked to him for an hour about the Buzzfeed article she read on self-care and how she had tried making a yoghurt and turmeric face mask at home – until the yoghurt turned into chewed up human liver and the turmeric transformed into shards of glass that embedded themselves in her hands ... Amanda, who he loves, and who he owes more than he will ever be able to forgive himself for.

Todd probably would have walked into an open war zone if it happened to be selling a bottle of shampoo that would put a smile on his sister’s face.

“Ooh, sister, okay!” The sales assistant – Dirk – leaps onto this new track with all the carefree glee of a child hopping across a babbling brook. “Tell me all about her.” He smiles the most winning smile Todd has ever witnessed, tilting his head to one side as if readying himself for the most important auditory information of his life. “I’m all ears.”

 _He doesn’t have to_ do  _that_ , Todd thinks again. _Be all ... earnest and shit_.

Not to mention the smile makes him nervous in his stomach.

Todd glances to the side, wondering if he can make a quick escape by throwing some other unwitting customer to the jaws of this beast of friendly overtures. But oddly enough for a Saturday afternoon, there’s no one in the store but him and the assistant.

“She’s ... Her name’s Amanda,” Todd says, with a reluctance that probably shows. Unnerved by the genuine amiability in Dirk’s smile, he shuffles down the row of bath displays, trying to put some space between them. Dirk, either oblivious or uncaring, follows him at a distance that’s about half a step too close to be completely comfortable. “She’s, um, she’s pretty sick. But she likes all this … stuff. So I thought I’d get her something ... nice,” he finishes lamely, looking anywhere but at Dirk.

“That’s so sweet!”

Todd feels a familiar lurch of guilt. He clears his throat, “It’s - really not ...”

“No, it is! We get a lot of men coming in for their girlfriends – sometimes their mums too, around Mother’s Day, you know, that sort of thing – but you’re the first person in a while who’s wanted something for their sister!” Dirk smiles at him, and his eyes crinkle into laughter lines at the edges. “I think it’s nice.”

Todd feels pathetic. Also very warm. “Yeah, um ... well. She’s my baby sister.”

“Of course,” says Dirk, before clapping his hands together so brightly that Todd flinches. “So. First question. Any allergies?”

“Um, no. Not really.” He thinks again, and adds, “Actually, maybe nothing that would like, turn the water really red. Or have … I don’t know, weird chunks in it ...?”

Todd cringes at himself, half-expecting the assistant to give him a very weird look and then a very wide berth – but if Dirk is creeped out by this caveat he doesn’t let on. He just hums to himself in a way that makes his mouth pout, and makes Todd wish he wouldn’t, because it’s already hard enough to focus when his head feels like it’s swimming with the smell of ylang-ylang.

“Okay, easy. Second question,” and now Dirk’s smile turns slightly playful, “does she like glitter?”

Todd snorts. “Uh, weirdly, yeah she does. Though, like - she’s not a super girly-girl or anything, and I don’t want to clog the bath up with crap she’d have to wash out ...”

“Oh, no-no-no, sir,” Dirk shakes his head, “you won’t have to worry about that. Our glitter is perfectly safe to just –” he makes a waving motion with one hand, “wash right down the plughole. It’s very fine. Most of the bath bombs won’t even leave much glitter residue on the skin after toweling off.”

Todd, who is looking at the glitter caught in Dirk’s long eyelashes, seriously doubts that.

Dirk seems to sense this, because he adds in a less pompous tone, “No, really, the glitter in the bath bombs being safe is a _big_ thing. They formulated it specifically so it’s alright to wash down the drain. Some of the melts and bombs and things do have bits and pieces in them like rose petals, or bits of paper – but I’ll steer you clear of those. It should be okay, and if it isn’t, I’ll get you your money back.”

Todd just looks down to the glitter-strewn floor, unable to meet Dirk’s friendly, sincere eyes. “Okay.”

“Any smells she likes?” Dirk asks, now ferreting his way through one of the crates. “Any smells she hates?”

“Nothing super sweet. Or, I don’t know what it’s called – like dried flowers and stuff? We had this aunt ...”

“Oh, potpourri,” Dirk nods knowingly. “Something a bit more modern then. Spices? Citrus?” He picks up a bright yellow concoction and offers it to Todd to smell, and Todd, politeness twisting his arm behind his back, does so.

He instantly regrets it; his head spins like a top, suddenly awash with enough lemon scent to make sixteen bottles of washing detergent feel insecure about themselves.

“Maybe not,” he chokes, stepping back with watering eyes. He’s beginning to think it was a mistake to come in here. If he’s feeling off just from sniffing the stuff then how is Amanda supposed to bathe in it safely?

It’s only when he blinks the tears back from his eyes that he sees a very chastised-looking Dirk. Todd feels another swoop of guilt.

“Sorry, it’s not that it’s bad, or …” It is bad, but that’s not really the problem. “My family – My sister, she has this ...” Todd sighs, feeling newly exhausted where he stands.

He’s so tired of trying explain pararibulitus to strangers who haven’t even heard of it, let alone had to live in fear of it since they were nine years old and saw their aunt collapse, screaming, at a Fourth of July party. He’s tired of the script, the weirdly tactless attempts at being tactful; lines like ' _I’m sorry'_  and ' _that’s so sad'_  and ' _has she tried meditating?'_  He feels worn through from the pity that he doesn’t even deserve let alone want.

He tries anyway. “She likes this kind of stuff, but she can be really sensitive to smell and touch, it’s this thing in my family ...”

“Oh right! No, of course!”

Todd blinks, not expecting to be interrupted at this part of the script. Dirk is darting around to the other side of the display, looking for something.

“I totally get you,” he says from the other side, slightly muffled, “my sister’s the same. Runs in our family too!”

He says it so brightly, so warmly, that Todd almost doesn’t resent him for the way that sentence pops a little bubble of pleasant surprise that had blossomed inside his chest. Almost.

 _Right_ , says the nasty, cynical voice that usually lives in the back of Todd’s head. _Of course. Just another asshole._

“Probably not,” Todd says, and he tries not to sound pissed off, he really does, but god - he’s so fucking tired.

“No, really,” Dirk insists, “I really get it.”

Todd stills himself. He tries to remember that this guy is just being friendly, because he’s being paid to be friendly and connect with customers and sympathize with them and all that crap. He tries to remember that people always think they’re helping when they say shit like that, that they always _really_ think they have some kind of scope on the situation. He tries to remember these things, until he remembers the last time Amanda had an attack at the grocery store, and the way no one around them 'really got it' then.

“You know –” Todd is just about to say something very rude but very satisfying – but then Dirk comes back around the corner, and Todd takes one look at his face and feels his own retort wither away in his mouth.

For the first time since Todd walked into this place, Dirk is quiet. His face, which has been more animated than that of Disney princess, has gone soft and still, and his eyes are trained steadily on Todd’s with complete openness. His mouth quirks slightly at one edge as he hands Todd a bath bomb.

“I understand,” Dirk says, and once again he sounds like he really, truly means it. “What do you think of this?”

Todd pulls his eyes away from Dirk to look at the bath bomb. It’s a ball of white, speckled faintly with light pink and blue, with an indented circlet of teal blue crystals that reminds Todd of the crystal geodes Amanda used to collect when she was fifteen and going through a wiccan phase. He lifts it to his nose. It’s floral without being flowery, a barely-there scent that seems gentle and clean, and somehow uplifting.

“It turns the water pink, but only very, very faintly,” Dirk is saying, his fingers fidgeting together. “It depends on how big the bath is, really, if there’s a lot of water it probably won’t even change color much, but it might be a good start to try something as inoffensive as possible and then if that goes well –”

“It’s perfect,” says Todd.

Dirk straightens, his mouth curving into a small, proud smile. “Oh. Good.” He just smiles at Todd for a moment, then half-turns on the spot, a little awkwardly. “I’ll, er ... I’ll ring you up, shall I? I mean at the check-out – the cash register,” he stumbles over the words. “I mean, oh – silly Dirk – can I get you anything else today?”

It’s only at that point that Todd’s very belated brain realizes that the sales assistant is British – extremely British, in fact. Todd feels uncomfortably warm again for some reason.

“Yes, I mean – no, this is fine for today.” Todd curses himself, both for stammering and for making it sound like he’s already planning to come back. Still feeling warm and stupid, follows Dirk to the front counter.

As Dirk runs him through the check-out Todd has a momentary flash of horror. The fear of him bringing this to Amanda, Amanda trying it out and having an attack – for a moment it’s so strong that his whole heart feels like it’s lined with lead and sinking to the ocean floor. Then Dirk catches his eyes and smiles his crinkly-eyed smile as he hands back the bath bomb, now wrapped neatly in black and brown paper.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, as if he’s psychic, “trust me.”

And Todd finds himself doing exactly that.

 

* * *

 

Despite how he had made it sound, Todd really doesn’t have any concrete plans to go back to the bath store any time soon. He gives the bomb to Amanda a few days after the event, calling it an “early-late birthday present” when she looks at him askance.

“You spoil me rotten,” she says when she hugs him, and the guilt washes against him again like water slowly eroding a cliff face.

Despite her slight disapproval, she’s unable to hide her excitement. It’s only a day or so later that she snapchats him a video of the bomb fizzing in the bathtub, followed by a barrage of texts describing the smell and the color; “Pink like cotton candy! This is some cool shit!”

So Todd is back at the bath store barely a week later, with what little remains of his fortnightly pay crumpled miserably in one pocket. He doesn’t really expect the same sales assistant to be there – and he’s not really sure how to interpret the way his palms sweat when he sees the familiar head bent over an array of brightly colored soaps in the window.

Todd wanders in, passing the sales assistant’s back. Todd’s footsteps slow near him as for a brief second, he actually considers saying ‘hi,’ perhaps even telling the assistant about the way Amanda’s face lit up when she unwrapped the bath bomb. Then Todd tells himself he’s being stupid, and that Dirk isn’t going to remember one face in what must have been dozens of crowds. Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t care about Amanda’s reaction any more than he was paid to care.

Todd drifts vaguely towards the bath bomb crates instead, hoping to spot something loosely similar to the white bath bomb he’d gotten last time. This time it’s a Wednesday afternoon and the place is surprisingly busy, and the fact that the crowd around him is mostly made up of twenty-somethings and teens doesn’t help Todd feel any less out of place. That, and the way they’re all dressed in almost unbearably cool clothing, and he’s in his black bellboy slacks with the stupid red cuffs and the white bargain-basement button-up that doesn’t even fit him properly.

Todd glances at Dirk, who is still fiddling with a large slab of rainbow-colored soap. Today he’s wearing a black bandana, with two tufted ends poking up out of his hair like ears.

“Hello, do you need a hand finding anything?”

The baritone in his ear is so sudden that Todd jumps back on reflex and nearly knocks over a crate of miniature bath bombs. Matters are made immediately worse by the sales assistant steadying him by the shoulder with what is probably the manliest hand Todd has ever seen in his life.

“Oh! Careful there. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The sales assistant looks genuinely remorseful for accosting him, and Todd quickly notices two things. The first is that the assistant has pastel pink hair. The second and far more grating thing is that this bath store seems to exclusively employ aggravatingly kind British men.

“No, it’s fine,” says Todd in an awkward, stiff way that makes it sound like it isn’t fine at all, and thus makes him sink just a little deeper into self-recrimination.

The assistant is also almost aggressively good-looking, standing what feels like a foot taller than Todd and looking unreasonably like a magazine cover, even dressed in plain black clothes. His nametag reads ‘ _Panto: he/him/his_ ,’ and Todd notes that the writing is a lot neater than Dirk’s – even though it has just as many unnecessary flourishes, and includes what Todd recognizes as a rainbow pride sticker.

“You looked a little lost. I thought you might appreciate some help,” says the assistant with a smile.

Now miring in mortification, Todd is torn between straight up sprinting out of the store he so clearly doesn’t belong in, standing his ground for his sister’s sake, and wondering what the fuck kind of name is ‘Panto.’

‘Panto’ looks like he’s beginning to think that Todd’s first language isn’t English. “Are you looking for yourself, or someone else?”

Todd flounders again, as if he’s just been asked to concisely explain the meaning of life. He should accept the man’s help, because god knows it’ll take him at least an hour of dithering in this hellscape of self-care to find something suitable on his own, but the awful truth is that he doesn’t want his help. Todd doesn’t want anyone’s help, but if he has to accept it then he would rather it be from …

“Oh, hello again!”

Todd turns with an embarrassing amount of relief to see his first sales assistant bounding up to him with a smile so earnest it makes Panto’s chivalry pale in comparison.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon!” Dirk fairly gushes.

Todd feels his cheeks go warm.

At the same time the nasty voice in Todd’s head sneers at Dirk’s overt enthusiasm, _No one is seriously that happy to see a near-stranger._

The thought triggers a small but complicated rush of mixed feelings; he’s left unsure if he feels guilty, resentful, or just resoundingly insecure. Dirk, of course, doesn’t give him a moment to inspect said bubbling pot of mixed feelings.

“How did it go?” he asks, now anxious. “Did your sister like it? You can tell me if she didn’t, I’m always open to criticism and –”

“She loved it,” Todd interrupts him, unable to suppress a smile.

“Oh, you got something for your sister?” Panto says, and Todd is reminded that he’s actually there. “That’s such a thoughtful thing to do – I should do that …”

“Isn’t it just?” Dirk chirrups, blissfully unaware of the way the sentence turns something sour in the back of Todd’s throat. “That’s what I said to him last time, but he acted all modest. I knew she’d love it.”

And then he winks at Todd, and Todd’s cheeks are no longer warm – they’re on fire. He wants to slap himself. Dirk is just being friendly, and Todd is being profoundly weird.

The conversation is continuing merrily without his input.

“Are you back for your sister again?” Dirk is asking, cocking his head like an interested bird, “or are you going to try something out too?”

“Oh, listen to Dirk,” Panto advises him, “he’s a bathing goods psychic.”

Todd snorts, because that’s exactly what he’s been calling Dirk in his head for the past week.

Dirk shoots Panto a dry look. “I am _not_ a psychic. I simply have a knack for unravelling the mysteries of the shower and bath world.”

“I’ve seen you look at a customer for thirty seconds and then recommend them a cleanser which became their go-to favorite,” Panto replies with a smile that shows a row of teeth whiter than the wildest dreams of Todd’s complete and total lack of healthcare.

Dirk looks back at Panto with an equally challenging smile, “So I don’t always concern myself with such petty things as employee protocol and company script. I see the solution to each customer’s needs as being detectable in the pattern and web of the whole. The connections between bathing rituals and physical-mental health are often much more subtle and complex than we, with our rough and ready understanding of cocoa butter, might naturally suppose.”

The significance of this spiel is hopelessly lost on Todd, and he’s very aware of that fact. He’s beginning to feel like the crumpled up, pathetically small handful of cash in his pocket, but he can’t exactly place why. It does seem to have something to do with how blindingly symmetrical Panto’s face is, and the way that Dirk grins as if they’re sharing an old in-joke – which Todd realizes, they probably are. _He’s_ the interloper here.

“Well, then,” Panto says, patting Todd on the shoulders in a way that makes Todd feel like he’s some sort of hobbit man next to a beautiful and towering elf, “I’ll leave you in my co-worker’s capable hands.”

He raises an eyebrow at Dirk before leaving, and Dirk waves a hand at him as if to say ‘ _oh, you_.’ Todd has an irrational urge to gnash his teeth. He tamps down on it, of course, because it’s irrational, but Dirk seems to pick up that something is off.

Dirk looks confused for a moment, and then a heavy, shuttered look settles over his features. It’s like a blackout curtain has just been drawn across an open window, and Todd immediately wants the blue sky back.

“You don’t need to worry about Panto,” says Dirk before Todd can speak.

“Oh, um …” Todd, flustered that Dirk has picked up so accurately on his train of thought – which makes little sense in the midst of the present to Todd himself – isn’t sure what to say. He’s also feeling oddly panicked, because Dirk’s voice has gone cold, and it really doesn’t suit him.

“He’s almost ridiculously married, so there’s no chance of him hitting on you,” Dirk says coolly, before segueing directly into, “now what can I help you with, sir?”

Realizing what’s just gotten lost in translation, Todd barks out a laugh that surprises both him and Dirk, as well as a gaggle of high-school girls standing nearby.

“Sorry,” Todd apologizes, acutely feeling the measure of his own social mess. “I just wasn’t – I didn’t think he was hitting on me. I wouldn’t have cared if he did, not like that anyway.”

Dirk blinks, and a pink flush climbs up from the collar of his black shirt and into his face. He laughs sheepishly. “Right. Of course. Of _course_ … Aah, stupid Dirk, always mistakenly thinking his friends are the targets of homophobic discrimination and getting shirty with the customers …”

He tugs self-consciously at his bandana and it’s then that Todd notices that the two tufts are actually tied deliberately in such a way to look like ears, because the black bandana is printed with the green eyes and pink nose of a cat. Todd can’t help but snort at it – and then immediately feel like a total asshole for laughing at something Dirk clearly spent at least half an hour trying to achieve.

Dirk seems to realize where he’s looking, and contrary to what Todd expects, looks shyly pleased that he’s made Todd smile. He flicks one of the black cat ears with a bashful grin. “What do you think?”

Todd thinks it looks ridiculous. “Suits you.”

Dirk turns pinker, and looks as if he’s trying to get his own grin under control. He bites his lip, then visibly forces a more professional veneer onto his face. “So. Sir. Same thing again? Or are we mixing it up?”

Todd, who had almost forgotten exactly what he came there for, is jolted out of trying to imagine Dirk in front of the bathroom mirror, his tongue poking out in concentration as he attempted to knot his bandana into the shape of a domestic pet. “Uh, sure,” he says without being able to remember exactly what the question was.

It seems to be the right answer though, because Dirk looks excited. He flaps his hands as if sparks of pure delight are flying from his fingertips – the blue sky is back in his eyes. “Now _that’s_ what I like to hear! Come with me.”

He’s soon prancing around the store, by turns bobbing and weaving between twenty-somethings with high forehead bangs and babbling at full speed about jasmine and fair-trade cocoa butter. Todd has to admit he can barely keep up, either mentally or physically, but Dirk looks happy, and Todd’s chest feels lighter than it has in … a while. Or at least, less pinned down with the weight of what usually feels like seven anchors’ worth of misery.

When Todd stands at the check-out this time it’s with a basket full of different products; things that look like soap but are actually shampoo, things that look like shampoo but are actually soap, and three more bath bombs that Dirk had judged to be mild enough for Amanda to try safely. One claims to actually crackle and pop in the bath like a campfire, which Todd is a little nervous about, but Dirk reassures him;

“Seriously, sir, it’ll be fine. It’s the sort of stuff they make popping sugar out of – it’s not going to be a problem. I mean, alright, _I_ hate that … _stuff_ , but only when it’s actually in my mouth because, no, I do not enjoy eating tiny bombs, thank you very much – but it’s fine in the water! Really!”

Todd is beginning to understand that this is the kind of small monologue, littered with tangents, that Dirk is in the habit of regularly delivering. From another sales assistant it would probably be unbearable. From Dirk, who doesn’t seem to mind if Todd tunes out or looks visibly confused, it’s almost endearing.

“Tell your sister I’m glad she liked the first one,” he says as his hands work a mile a minute to wrap up the various soaps and sundries into neat little parcels, which he then deposits into a paper carry bag. He puts Todd in mind of a many-armed, well-oiled machine, busily running on automatic as his mouth runs equally on automatic. “Oh, and that I hope these are even better. Personally, I’m rather fond of the one that smells like freshly baked buns – it’s brand new but I’m hoping it’ll stick around. Sometimes they stop making them, you know – there was this one called Phoenix Rising …”

Todd has been silently tracking the math in his head as they went along, so he isn’t too shocked when he has to hand over the entirety of the notes in his pocket. He’s also practiced enough with that sort of thing not to wince as he does so. But he does ask, in a forcedly casual way that doesn’t seem to fool Dirk at all, if they have some kind of loyalty program.

“Oh!” Dirk looks like he’s struggling with a variety of battling emotions, both pleased and guilty at once. “Um. No. No, we don’t. I mean; no, sir, unfortunately it’s company policy not to give out loyalty discounts, as we don’t believe it’s ethical to charge some customers higher than others or risk damaging the pay rates of our workers. Cuts have to come from somewhere, that sort of thing ... you know …”

Todd can already feel his bank account shriveling into dust. But that’s fine. Amanda deserves this _._

 _And you deserve to be spending all your money on her,_ says the nasty voice _._

“Oh, right, yeah!” he says out loud, in the same forcedly nonchalant way, “that’s cool! Sure.”

“Sorry, sir,” Dirk says, and he looks so wretchedly guilty that Todd feels about as obviously pathetic as a bug on the windscreen of God’s four-wheel-drive.

“No, it’s cool, man. I’ll – um, I’ll see you later.” Todd takes the bag and walks out of the store like a deeply embarrassed robot, feeling completely incapable of looking behind him at the pity which is no doubt etching itself onto Dirk’s face.

 

* * *

 

Amanda dives into the paper bag with the enthusiasm he remembers from their childhood Christmases.

“Dude! This is totally crazy; did you buy the whole fucking store?”

Todd, currently elbow-deep in dish suds, grins at her delight. “Yeah … I think that sales assistant did a number on me,” he jokes.

“Definitely,” says Amanda as she pulls open a wrapped product and inhales deeply. “She’s got you on a string, brother o’ mine.”

“He,” Todd corrects absently as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn bit of week-old egg. “Same one from before.”

Amanda is more occupied with ripping open one of the shampoo bars. “This is gonna take me, like, at least a month to get through.”

Todd should probably be relieved, because it’ll be at least a month before he even has the money to get himself groceries that aren’t pot noodles and beans, but instead he feels flat. Disappointed, except not, because that wouldn’t make any sense.

“I can get you a couple more bombs in a week or so,” he finds himself saying, “when my next pay packet comes in.”

Amanda stops, looking up abruptly. “Todd. You didn’t spend all your money on this or anything, right?”

It would be easy to lie to her even if she didn’t look so horrified. Todd is, after all, the expert on that shit.

“What?” He’s ready to force a grin by the time he turns around from draining the sink. “Amanda, don’t get me wrong, I love you and everything, but I wouldn’t spend my last dollar on luxury bath supplies for anyone.”

Amanda’s face relaxes into a smile. “Jerk.”

She starts digging through the bag again, and Todd dries his hands and joins her on the couch.

“Actually,” he says, picking up a tub of face cleanser, “the sales assistants they have in there are like – they’re weird.” He unscrews the lid and sniffs at the black, gritty contents of the tub; it smells like burnt sugar. Weird, but not unpleasant.

“Yeah? Weird how?”

“Just … I dunno,” Todd shrugs. “They’re like human Care Bears.”

Amanda snorts out a laugh, which makes Todd smile briefly, glancing at her. She sees him looking and pokes her tongue out at him, before wobbling an upturned, bright blue shower jelly in his face. He bats her off, mostly because his exaggerated disgust makes her laugh again.

“Get off. Goblin.” He screws the lid back on the face cleanser and tosses it back into the pile.

“Everyone’s a human Care Bear compared to you,” Amanda says, prodding at her jelly, “these days, anyway, I mean. I don’t know when you got so grumpy …”

She trails off, and Todd doesn’t like the look that drifts onto her face. It reminds him too much of his own expression every morning in the bathroom mirror; too ruminative, too sad.

He tries to jolt her out of it by bumping her shoulder with his. “No, seriously. This guy – the one who’s served me twice now – he’s like, alarmingly bubbly. Covered in glitter. Wears bandanas. Walks and talks like one of the Muppets … Always asking if I need _help_ , like he really, _truly_ wants to help me. Like it’s his life purpose, or something.”

Amanda snickers again. “Fuck. Sounds awful.”

Todd remembers how pure Dirk’s smile was, and feels that guilt-wave erode another little piece of him. “Yeah. Awful.”

“Aren’t they all like that, though?” says Amanda as she recaps her jelly, trying to squash it back into the tub.

Still a little blinded by the memory of Dirk’s smile plus the lingering anxiety that washes up any time the guilt makes a reappearance, Todd is slow to reply. “Huh?”

“Yeah, all the people who work at that chain. It’s like, their whole thing.”

Todd sits up. “I thought you’d never been.”

“No, but I’ve been reading reviews online and stuff,” she replies, still trying to jam the shower jelly back into its casing. “Watching YouTube unboxing shit, you know –”

“Oh my god, Manda, no, I don’t want to hear about your YouTube unboxing vids …”

Amanda laughs, “No, listen – people joke about it all the time. How all the people who work at those stores are all, _‘is this your first time here? You have to try this new melt, it’s incredible, it’ll give you the skin of a Greek god, it was made from the piss of Jesus himself!’”_

“Oh,” Todd says slowly. “Dirk’s not like –”

“And they’re all super outgoing and friendly and shit? It’s the brand.” Amanda succeeds in getting the jelly back in, drops it back into the bag, and stretches back onto the couch. “Which is cool and everything, don’t get me wrong. Just, it sounds like they’re paid to act like that and trained and stuff. And they’re super obvious about it.”

Todd stares at the crumpled bag on the table, unsure exactly why he feels so stupid. “Right, yeah. Obvious.”

 _Obvious_ , echoes the nasty voice in the back of his mind. _I mean. Why would anyone smile like that at you?_


	2. Now I Can Clearly See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd goes back to the bath store and is a hapless bisexual.

Todd makes himself wait for five days after he gets his next pay. Then, after work on Wednesday, he’s back at the mall parking lot, steeling himself for another round with the bath store employee – and determined this time not to make an idiot out of himself. He always looks like shit after work though, and today is no exception. The face that looks back at him in the wing mirror is sweaty and pink, and there are bags under his eyes almost the size of the suitcases he spent the day lugging about. He tries without much success to tame his straggling hair and checks awkwardly for sweat marks on his shirt.

After a while he realizes that he’s fretting over his appearance when all he’s ostensibly here to do is pick up a couple more bath bombs for his sister. He feels newly stupid and gets out of the car. Still, he can’t help but think on how this will be the third time that Dirk sees him in this stupid post-work outfit. Hopefully Dirk will know it’s just the remnants of a uniform and not think that Todd’s some kind of weirdo who never showers – then Todd forcibly reminds himself that Dirk might not even be working today. Even if he had been rostered on during a Wednesday the last time Todd had visited.

Todd walks in, extremely conscious of the way his arms are swinging, trying to force himself to look straight ahead and not scan the store for a tell-tale bandana. Conscious or not, his eyes pick up a gleam of pastel pink; Panto is flashing his gregarious smile between two young women who look utterly charmed by him _and_ by the shop’s supply of chocolatey face masks. Apart from them the store is mostly empty, with only two other shoppers wandering about, and Dirk is nowhere to be seen. Todd steadfastly ignores whatever that feeling in his stomach is and crosses the store to the perfume section, trying to avoid catching Panto’s eye.

He can probably handle this on his own now, anyway. He has a good idea of what does what now, he doesn’t really need help just picking out two bath bombs to give Amanda another fortnight’s entertainment. He’s fine.

 _Right, yeah. Of course you are_ , says the nasty voice sarcastically.

 _I am. I’m not an idiot. I don’t_ need  _Dirk. Strictly speaking._

Todd instils further confidence in himself by nearly knocking a perfume bottle and a small tray of shower scrubs to the floor, fumbling them just in time but swearing loudly in the process.

_Great going, dickhead._

“Oh, hello!” Panto waves at him from across the store as if they’re old friends. Todd tries not to actively hate him for doing so. “You again! I’ll call Dirk.”

 _So Dirk_ is  _here_ , hums a little voice in the back of Todd’s mind. It’s distinct from the nasty one but Todd has always labelled it as equally unhelpful. He mentally kicks it in the shins.

“It’s fine, there’s no need!” Todd says as he steps away from the perfumes with hopes of hiding behind the central bath bomb display, but Panto is already making his way to the counter, followed by the two women.

“Nonsense,” says Panto jovially, and Todd wilts. Panto calls into the open door that leads off into the staff area behind the counter. “Dirk! Customer for you!”

Todd ducks behind the bath bombs and busies himself with reading every detail of the closest the product sign. The words of capitalist positivity quickly start to blur together into what sound like nonsense excerpts from _The Little Book of Calm_ , and he’s halfway through re-reading ‘ _when you’re chewing on life’s gristle, don’t grumble, give a whistle_ ’ over and over when he feels a familiar presence beside him.

“Hel- _lo_ , sir!” Dirk’s headband is a warm sunflower yellow today. He’s beaming like the Teletubby Sun baby, and Todd feels more than a little drenched in the warmth of that smile. “I was wondering if I’d get to see you again!”

 _Paid to wonder that_ , the nasty voice reminds Todd. _Paid to care. Paid to give a shit._ _Just like you and the hotel guests._

“Um, yeah. Hi.” He attempts a smile, instantly feels like it makes him look like a creep, and stops. “I, uh – I didn’t mean to make you come out here. I mean, if you’re busy, I think I can handle –”

“No, sir!” Dirk hurries to stress to him, “I _like_ serving you!”

Todd knows he’s turning red. He can feel his neck prickling with it. “Um.” He half turns towards the bath crates, chanting ‘ _paid-paid-paid-paid …’_ in his head.

When Todd risks glancing back at him, Dirk is looking slightly red too. “Er … How did your sister like …?”

Todd seizes on this as a topic of discussion. “Amanda? She was over the moon. You picked out perfect stuff for her.”

Dirk half-suppresses his smile, angling his chin proudly. “Well, we picked them out together, didn’t we?”

Todd snorts. “Yeah, like I was so helpful.”

“Um. Yes, you were.” Dirk looks like he’s taking offence on Todd’s behalf. “I haven’t met your sister, remember? How would I have known what to pick out for her if you weren’t here to describe her tastes?”

Todd can’t really argue with that.

Dirk smiles a little half-smile which looks both smug and indescribably sweet at the same time. He bumps his hip against Todd’s side. “Admit it. We make a pretty good team.”

Todd stays rooted to the spot, because he’s scared that if he moves he’ll knock over the entire row of crate displays. _Paid_ , he reminds his brain firmly. _Paid_.

Dirk, apparently satisfied with making Todd turn red twice in the space of half a minute, turns his attention to the bath bombs and bubble bars. “So, are we shopping for Amanda again, or can I tempt you?”

Once his brain finishes spluttering slightly, and Todd very sternly tells himself not be weird and Dirk didn’t meant _that_ like _that_ , he manages to make sense of the question and is taken aback all over again.

“What, stuff for _me_?” Todd doesn’t mean for it to sound so obviously amused – but the thought of him having time to take a long bath, let alone having the wherewithal to dump pretty cocaine in and soak in it, is bitterly funny.

Dirk misconstrues his reaction and shoots him a look. “Self-care is for men too, you know, sir.”

“I …” Todd smiles in an awkward, embarrassed kind of way. “Okay, sure. Just – the whole self-care thing. Not for me.”

Dirk raises his eyebrows at him with utter seriousness and a slight sense of piety, “ _Sir_. Self-care is for _everyone_.”

Todd snorts, and Dirk prods him in the side, making him jump slightly.

“ _Really_. Okay, it might not be fancy, nice-smelling, glittery bath supplies for everyone, yes, but everyone should learn how to take care of themselves. In their own way.”

When Todd doesn’t reply, because he’s not sure how to reply to that, Dirk casts an admonishing glance over him that makes Todd want to shrink into his oversized work slacks.

“No offence meant, sir, but you look … _tired_.”

“Gee, thanks,” says Todd, wishing he could dissolve on the spot like one of Dirk’s bath melts.

Dirk just looks sincere and concerned, and ultimately good-natured – which, it turns out, is a lethal combination. Todd looks away quickly.

“Do you always look this tired?” Dirk asks him, his voice dropping under the obnoxious beat of the store’s pop music.

Still avoiding his eyes, Todd shrugs. “I’m a bellboy. You work in retail, you know how it is. You spend your whole day pretending you’re not tired, makes sense it wears you out.”

Dirk draws in a breath to say something which will undoubtedly be perceptive and devastatingly sympathetic. Todd cuts him off.

“It’s just customer service,” he insists, both to Dirk and to himself. “Anyway. Forget that.” He tries to shake off the nervousness in his chest and move swiftly onwards. “I was thinking, Amanda’s gonna take a while to get through all the stuff I got her –”

Dirk uses the breath he’d drawn in to quickly chip in, “And have I mentioned that you are an absolutely stellar and very generous big brother?”

Todd only wavers slightly under the guilt, ignoring him and pushing on, “… But she uses up the bath bombs quickly, so I thought I’d come in every other week or so and get her new ones? And she’s been doing well with the stuff you’ve been picking out for her, so I was thinking …”

“Something a little less tame?” Dirk is mercifully redirected towards scanning the crates for ideas. His expression – slightly pursed lips, slightly squinty eyes, overall somewhere between goofy and exacting – is one already familiar to Todd. “Okay.” Dirk smiles slowly. “I have _just_ the thing.”

He grabs Todd’s hand and pulls him around to the other side of the display, and Todd is too taken by surprise to do anything but be jolted along beside him. When Dirk lets go of his hand to seize a couple of bath bombs, Todd’s skin tingles with the imprint of Dirk’s touch.

Todd surreptitiously wipes his suddenly very clammy hand on his slacks. Dirk’s hands are soft, very soft – Todd’s radically unhelpful brain is all too willing to point that out. He forces himself to tune into what Dirk is saying.

“… Very purifying for the skin, just has a lot of those yummy very-good skin-love anti-bacterial properties, can you believe? Also, smell.”

Dirk holds it out, and Todd, already attuned to the routine, leans forward to sniff. The orangey-golden bomb smells like …

“A latte?” He takes it from Dirk, turning it over with quiet delight. “Yeah, okay, I have to get that for her. She’s a Starbucks gremlin.”

Dirk laughs, and the sound makes Todd’s chest clench reflexively with an emotion he really doesn’t care to investigate closer. He shoots a sidelong glance at Dirk; the crinkles in the corners of his eyes are back.

“I am _so_ glad you like it,” Dirk says, and his hand comes to fall over Todd’s forearm, his fingers just brushing the skin for a moment where Todd’s sleeves are rolled up. In the next instant Dirk has moved on, skipping back around to the end of the display in search of something else and leaving Todd blinking like a glitching 2001 Windows XP screen in his wake.

That little humming voice in the back of Todd’s head is trying to say something again. Luckily, there are two little voices in Todd’s head at any given moment – the nasty one and the humming one. Right now, the nasty one is doing a good job of sticking his fingers in his ears and going “ _la-la-la_ ” over the top of whatever the other is trying to think. Still, the smaller voice is being unusually persistent, and after a moment it breaks through with:

 _Is he …_ flirting  _with me?_

 _Absolutely not, go fuck yourself_ , replies the nasty voice, quickly and vehemently.

“Si-ir!” Dirk is smiling at him from the opposite end of the display, his hips swaying just slightly. He beckons at Todd. Then he waves a rainbow striped bath bomb. “What are your feelings on this?”

Todd does his best to mentally press mute on any and all voices. He’s unsuccessful.

_He’s flirting with me. I swear to god, he’s flirting with me._

_He’s a sales assistant, dipshit. They’re practically paid to flirt. Don’t let it go to your head._

That shuts up the little voice. Todd moves forward, very belatedly. Dirk, not realizing at all that he’s provoking an all-out civil war in Todd’s brain, seems to take his reticence as dislike of the rainbow bomb. He picks up a purple one instead.

“Alright, this one then. We haven’t done anything glittery – I mean, okay,” Dirk holds up a hand, “we’ve done one, but that was nothing. That was barely a sparkle. A smidge in the constellations of scintillation. A fart in the Milky Way. This is _real_ lustre.”

The purple bomb is nondescript and non-sparkly but for the little coin of glittery silver embedded in its surface. Todd can only assume that it’s the mitochondria powerhouse to the bath bomb’s cell.

“It just came in last Friday,” Dirk is saying, “I thought of Amanda right away, because glitter really is our whole _thing_ here and I’ve been feeling of late that my recommendations have been sorely lacking in that regard. But you weren’t here last Friday.”

There are distracting implications there. Implications that Dirk has thought about Todd and his sister without Todd present to remind Dirk that he exists. Implications that Dirk has possibly kept an eye out for him on a day when he didn’t show up. Before Todd can recover from any of it, Dirk continues.

“ _I_ was though. Because I’m here every Friday. And every Wednesday. Full day shift. The rest of my schedule is total mess.” He smiles sideways at Todd, his mouth quirked just so. “Customer service. You know how it is.”

Todd swallows, because his mouth feels dry. He concentrates on absolutely not thinking about why that might be. “Customer service,” he repeats out loud. “Yep. Customer service.”

Dirk seems to be waiting for him to say something else; his eyes are on him, expectant.

Todd, who is used to letting people down, stops himself from even thinking about what he would say, other than, “So yeah, these two should be good for a fortnight.”

Todd doesn’t wait to see Dirk’s reaction. He marches towards the front counter with all the stalwart resolution of a frontier soldier, purple and gold bath bombs in hand. Before he can get there he finds Dirk dancing in front of him and into his path.

“Oh, sorry,” says Dirk, steadying him by the arm as they bump together. “I just – are you sure? That you don’t want anything else? For yourself, I mean.”

_Of course._

Todd knows that compared to his last visit, two measly bath bombs is far less than Dirk might have expected to get him to buy. He realizes, with a deeply unpleasant rush of hurt and bitterness, that he was meant to be the payload customer. He wonders if they somehow get paid commission here.

“I can’t afford it,” he says as brusquely and as baldly as possible, meeting Dirk’s eyes with defiance. If this guy thinks Todd’s going to be some sort of high-paying regular that would certainly explain the flirting, and Todd refuses to fall for that schtick again.

He tries to move to the counter, and Dirk stops him again at the arm. “You deserve it,” he says, looking anxious.

Todd laughs in his face, because boy, was that the wrong selling angle. “No, I really don’t.”

Dirk, screw him, is smiling with a front of understanding that’s almost hypnotically convincing. “Well, I think you do.”

Todd is five seconds from telling the sales assistant to stop trying to grift him and just sell him the fucking bath bombs, but a loud noise out the back of the store, from somewhere behind the counter, distracts them both. It sounds like someone has dropped something hollow and metal – it must be something to do with Panto, because he’s nowhere to be seen. When Todd looks back at Dirk, Dirk looks like he has stomach indigestion. For a moment he thinks Dirk has actually paled, then he tells himself it’s probably just at the thought of not making an extra $75 on a sale.

“Just these today,” Todd says, trying to keep the sting in his chest out of his voice. He sounds cold, even to his own ears.

“Um. Okay.” Dirk looks … odd.

Todd pointedly ignores him and turns away to wait for him at the counter. He can hear Dirk scurrying behind him, but he doesn’t appear.

Todd sighs, “Listen, dude, I’ve got to go get groceries and stuff, I can’t …” He stops as he turns around and sees Dirk digging in one of the bath bomb crates.

_Oh, come on, give it up._

“Hey,” he says sharply, loud enough for Dirk to hear him from across the store and for the only other customer in there to turn around in confusion too.

Dirk reacts in a way that Todd can only describe as bizarre. He jumps, then seems to nearly trip, and drops something in his hand onto the floor.

Todd almost moves to go to him, then stops himself. Dirk scoops up the dropped thing – a now broken bath bomb – and hurries to the check-out.

“Sorry, sir, just fixing a problem I saw. The two bath bombs today, isn’t it, sir?” Dirk is talking at a slightly feverish pace, even for him. His hands are a blur over the electronic scales and the register.

“Um, yeah …” Todd eyes him, unsure whether to be suspicious or worried.

There’s something … furtive about Dirk’s movements. He works even faster than usual to wrap up the bath bombs, so fast that Todd finds it hard to keep track – it’s as if there’s more than only two moving pieces. Todd is suddenly reminded of a street magician he saw as a child, moving peas under plastic cups.

“Hey, wait a second.” Todd catches Dirk’s wrist just he’s about to slip a wrapped product into the usual paper bag.

Dirk has the widest, guiltiest eyes Todd has ever seen. Todd pulls the bag towards him and peers in.

“That’ll be $13.90 today, sir,” Dirk blurts, as if he can talk over the top of what Todd can see with his own two eyes.

“There are three bath bombs in here. Not two.”

Dirk shifts on the spot nervously. “The last one is free,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“I broke it when I was trying to fix the display, I can’t sell it now, you might as well have it – I know you’re not fond of citrus but this one is quite gentle, it’s meant to be a sort of pick-me-up! It has neroli in it as well, and lime oil is very good for revitalizing …”

As Dirk rambles his way through this explanation, Todd pulls the third package out of the bag. Unlike the others, it has no sticker label holding it closed, and he’s able to let the mostly shattered bath bomb slide out onto his palm, and with it a light aroma that reminds him of buttercups. It’s bright yellow, brighter than Dirk’s headwrap of the day, and the chunk in Todd’s hand has blue cornflowers pressed into it.

Dirk has fallen silent. Todd looks up at him, at his twisting fingers and bitten lip. Todd realizes – not for the first time in his life – that he’s been a total asshole.

“Shit,” he says aloud, then, “I mean – um. Sorry. I thought …” Dirk just looks anxious and confused, so Todd shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He’s staring at Dirk again, he knows, but he can’t quite wrap his head around it – the idea, however doubtful, that someone, _this_ someone, has looked at Todd and not only noticed that he was dead on his feet, but cared enough to do something about it even in the face of Todd’s hostility.

“I …” Todd leans forward over the counter, lowering his voice. “Won’t you like, get in trouble for this?”

Dirk looks away. “Oh, I break things all the time. Panto’s used to it by now.”

Todd knows he shouldn’t accept what is clearly a pity present. Part of him is horrifically embarrassed that Dirk even went so far as to break something just so Todd could have something for himself, for free. Unfortunately, the rest of him is so thoroughly touched by exactly the same gesture that he finds himself sliding the yellow bath shards back into their packaging and dropping it in the bag.

“$13.90, you said?” he says, digging in his pocket for his wallet.

Dirk’s smile is incandescent. He bites his lip again, but this time he looks pleased and flushed rather than nervous, and Todd has to avert his eyes yet again.

“Yes, er – yes, sir! $13.90!”

Todd is halfway through handing over the money when the door behind the counter opens and Panto appears, looking harried.

“Dirk.” He jerks his head, gesturing behind the door. “Your, er, expertise is required.”

Dirk drops a couple of coins onto the counter with a clatter, and winces. “Shit.” He glances at Todd, then swears again, “Shit, um – I mean, sorry.”

Todd half-laughs, shaking his head, “It’s … fine – is everything okay?”

Dirk leans back, peering behind the door at something that Todd can’t see. “Ah – mostly? Yes. No. Not right now, but probably _will_ be soon and I’m really very sorry but I have to go.” At Todd’s bemusement, he adds quietly, “It’s my sister, I need to look after her.”

Todd understands immediately. “Shit – of course, yeah, go. Don’t worry.”

Dirk shoots him one last warm, grateful smile as he trades places with Panto. He pauses briefly at the door. “Um. See you soon?”

Todd nods three times before he even thinks.

“Good. Er – toodle-pip!” Dirk disappears behind the door, and very quickly after that a few concurrent things happen.

Panto starts some sort of spiel about how sorry he is to interrupt and does Todd need anything else. Todd has already tuned out because he’s marveling again at just how British Dirk is, and feeling another odd surge of warmth in his cheeks.

Then his brain decides to pick that moment to remind him about the embarrassingly persistent crush he had on the lead singer of The Arctic Monkeys all through the latter half of college. Finally, the wall he has carefully constructed around the steadily growing pile of boxes labelled ‘ _Dirk Things, Don’t Look At_ ’ – in the vain hope that obscuring them from view would maybe make them magically go away – that finally comes tumbling down and Todd is left staring internally at what is –

_Oh god. Oh no. I have to get out of here right now._

He performs the rest of the interaction with Panto on automatic, grabs his bag, walks out of the store, trudges out of the mall and into the car park. He slams his car door shut and sits in absolute silence for five minutes before letting his head thunk heavily onto the steering wheel.

 _Fantastic. Good fucking job blowing it_ , the nasty voice hisses at him.

He’s got a full-blown, un-ignorable, stomach-flipping crush on the bath store employee. Cool. He can never go back there again.


	3. You Bring Out The Best In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lads I'm _so_ sorry this is late, family happenings are happening because it's the holidays where I am, so things got hectic and my fatigue got ... fatigue-y. as I write this I lie in bed, recumbent with the kind of exhaustion only known by those who have the chronic fatigue, the hubris to cut a hedge the day before their sister visits, and the further hubris to walk around all day looking at weird antiques.

Todd goes back there again every week. It quickly becomes part of his routine, one new bath product picked up once a week on either a Wednesday or a Friday. He can’t work out which day he prefers to go; on Fridays the shop is always busier and Dirk has less time free to talk to him, but on Wednesdays the shop is quieter and Todd is left totally at the mercy of Dirk’s unutterably charming charm.

Said charm also has a tendency to vary wildly in potency. Some days, Dirk can pass for merely chipper, with a bit of spring in his step. Other days, he’s just plain weird, babbling at length about the pros and cons of aromatherapy and how they connect to the overarching patterns and whims of the Universe at large. Some days, he smiles at Todd in ways that make Todd want to tug nervously at his own collar. All kinds of days fall under the category of ‘unutterably charming,’ with subcategories of ‘pretty cute,’ ‘pretty odd,’ and ‘pretty.’

Either way, Todd knows how he feels about it all, which is one big ball of ‘nervous as fuck.’ Especially when Dirk cocks his head at him and says things like:

“How about a French Kiss?”

It’s the name of a bubble bar, because of course it fucking is. (Todd is beginning to suspect that the bath chain has named their products for the sole purpose of their unfairly attractive employees being able to fluster unsuspecting bystanders with double entendres).

By this point Todd has been visiting the store for over a month, so he’s able to recover quickly enough.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be giving that to my sister,” he says wryly.

Dirk, who for some reason acts as if he’s enchanted by every scant hint of Todd’s sense of humor, laughs loudly. Todd feels a surge of shy, happy butterflies – at least for a brief second before that nasty voice points out that no one would honestly find him _that_ funny, and Dirk’s either exaggerating or insane.

“Okay, okay,” Dirk says, dropping the lavender bubble bar back into its crate. He reaches instead for a bomb that looks like a roll of sushi. “Sir, you really can be _so_ hard to please …”

He sounds the opposite of scolding – in fact, his tone makes Todd’s stomach do three backflips. He’s also bending right over the sushi bomb crate in a way that’s both undeniably silly and extremely distracting. Todd can see a strip of bare skin where the strings of Dirk’s apron are making his black shirt ride up.

Todd gulps and does what he usually resorts to whenever Dirk’s body becomes too distracting – he swivels around and walks to the opposite side of the crate display. He picks up a bath bomb at random.

“How about this?”

Dirk, who is as usual surprised to find that Todd has seemingly teleported away, pokes his head around the side of the display. “Oh,” he says when his eyes land on the bright pink bomb in Todd’s hand, “er, probably not for your sister either.”

“Why?” asks Todd, sniffing it absently; it has a heady, sweet, almost overwhelming smell. “What’s it called?”

“Sex Bomb,” replies Dirk innocently.

Todd feels his stomach twang again at the sound of Dirk’s stupid English accent saying _that_ , as if he’s a teenager who giggles whenever someone says ‘penis.’ He doesn’t realize he’s dropped the bath bomb until Dirk swings by his side and catches it with one hand in a single, fluid movement. Todd stares, because for one thing that’s unusually smooth for Dirk, and for another – possibly because of the first part – it’s really, bizarrely, hot.

Dirk ruins it immediately by snorting out a laugh through his nose and singing, “Gotcha!”

Todd is either going to punch him for being so cute, or punch himself for finding hand-to-eye coordination attractive.

“I have to be honest, just between you and me,” Dirk says delicately as he replaces the pink bath bomb, “this one’s not really my thing.”

He’s giving Todd the sly, sidelong look he often does, the one that always seems to suggest he’s trying to say about three things with one sentence. Todd, as usual, has fuck all idea how to interpret it.

“Too strong?” he guesses, mostly for something to say. “The smell, I mean.”

“Oh, well.” Dirk leans against the crates slightly, more heavily than Todd would ever dare. He’s still close, though. In order to catch the bath bomb he had stepped into Todd’s space, and he hasn’t stepped back since. “The smell, yes. Jasmine is supposed to be an aphrodisiac, apparently.”

“Right. Yeah,” Todd says in a way that’s probably very vague but hopefully doesn’t come off as completely flustered.

“But the color too,” Dirk glances down at the offending bath bomb. His eyes flick back up, and Todd almost thinks he can see a hint of trepidation in them. “The whole thing is … a bit much. For me, _personally_ ,” he hastens to clarify, “I know some customers love it.”

“Oh. Okay,” Todd says uncertainly, still trying to work out what Dirk’s getting at, because he’s definitely getting at something.

Dirk just fiddles with the peeling sticker on his name-tag, the one Todd noticed on his first day, banded in black, grey, and purple.

“What is your … thing, then?” Todd finds himself asking.

Dirk looks up at him bashfully, head ducked to his chest. “Me?” he smiles, and it’s somehow sweeter than honey and suggestive enough to give Todd a headrush. “I still like the French Kiss.”

_Oh. I’m in danger_ , titters the small voice in Todd’s head.

“How about you?” Dirk says, and he definitely looks tentative now.

Todd has no idea what to think. Todd has no idea what to say. He’s not at all confident that he’s understanding this conversation in the slightest, but his heart sure is thudding in his chest.

Now it’s thudding in his pocket too. No, wait, that’s his phone vibrating.

“Um – sorry …” Todd pulls out the phone to do his customary check. Amanda’s caller ID is flashing on the screen. “Ah, shit, sorry – I have to take this, give me five?”

Dirk presses his lips together like he’s trying to smile. He squeaks an affirmative.

“Sorry.” Todd steps away to take the call, shuffling back into the corner near the door. “Hey, you okay?”

“Todd, holy fuck, man!” Amanda’s voice is elated, not upset, and Todd feels his chest relax at the sound. “This bath playdough stuff is the shit! I made a fuckin’ volcano like science class and blew it up in the bathtub!”

“You – wait,” Todd switches the phone to his other ear, “you blew it up?”

“Not literally, asshole,” Amanda jeers at him cheerfully, “I built it under the faucet and then turned on the tap. Bubbles _everywhere_!”

“Okay, cool to know you’re still five years old,” Todd snorts, “but I have to go.”

Amanda, as he should have predicted, uses her Younger Sibling Super Powers to sense an opportunity to be thoroughly annoying.

“What, you busy? Oh no, shame … I so wanted to hang out …”

He sighs. “Amanda …” He glances back at Dirk, half-expecting him to be watching the conversation from over by the crates. Instead he sees that Dirk has disappeared.

“What are you doing, anyway? Shouldn’t you have gotten off work ages ago?”

“Yeah ... I did …” Todd scans the store and spots Dirk over by the face mask stand, where numerous metal bowls of brightly colored goo sit in a tray of ice. Dirk is in deep conversation with another customer, who must have summoned Dirk’s attention the moment Todd stepped away.

“So? What are you doing?”

Dirk scoops up a bit of luridly blue gunk on a spoon and shows it to the customer. He seems to be trying to show them the consistency; he does so a little too enthusiastically and accidentally splatters their forearm. Todd smiles.

“Todd?”

“Huh? Sorry, yeah. I’m – I’m out,” he says evasively.

“Out _where_?” Amanda presses him, stretching the last word into a whine. “I thought I was your favorite sister, Toddy. Can’t even take five minutes to talk to me, your best sibling ever. The greatest co-offspring in the world. Such a disappointment.”

Amanda’s just teasing, but at the word ‘disappointment’ Todd snaps to attention like a puppet jerked upright on a string. “Sorry, no – you’re right, I’m … I’m just at the store. The bath store – place. Are you okay? What have you been up to today?”

There’s a pause on the line, then a shuffling noise, as if Amanda’s sagging back into her bed or the couch. “Todd. We talked about this, dude.”

Todd tries to force more sincerity into his voice, because clearly he’s not doing a good enough job. “No, seriously. What have you been doing?”

Amanda sighs. “I dunno. Same as usual. Same as every day. Just … trying not to get sick. It’s not that exciting.”

There’s another awkward pause as Todd tries to think of something to say. He manages, “Right, yeah –” before she shuffles again and cuts him off.

“Wait, you’re at the bath store? Like, the place you get my stuff?” She sounds more attentive, brighter.

“Yes,” he says quickly, “I, um – I was gonna drop by tomorrow to see you and –”

“Is the Bath Psychic there?”

Todd looks over at Dirk, who’s fetched a wet cloth and is clearly trying to towel off the customer while babbling apologies at the same time. “He is.”

“Oh my god, what’s he wearing in his hair today?”

Todd had been keeping Amanda updated on Dirk’s personal taste in headwear. He started telling her because it made her laugh, but lately he’s been avoiding it. He knows Amanda doesn’t mean to be cruel, but she’s laughing at Dirk, not with him. And Todd is the one facilitating the whole thing, blushing in front of Dirk and then effectively mocking him behind his back. In Todd’s long history of doing shitty things that make him hate himself, it’s definitely sitting high as the second-most shitty thing that makes him hate himself the second-most. Which is selfish in and of itself, because it’s certainly not the second shittiest thing he’s done to someone. He’s just selfish enough to hate hurting Dirk and Amanda more than anyone else.

“Nothing,” Todd lies, even though Dirk’s wearing a headwrap in calico painted with gold hexagons and bees. “Looks normal,” he adds unconvincingly, and then hates himself for accidentally implying that Dirk is usually abnormal. Even if that is true, and probably one of the things that draws Todd’s interest towards Dirk like a very predictable magnet towards a very shiny bright yellow fridge.

“Put him on!”

“What?” Todd says in alarm.

“Put him on the phone! I want to talk to this weird bath store Jesus you’re always going on about.”

“I don’t – I’m not putting you on the phone with him. He’s busy, he’s with a customer.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’re free to hang out with me,” Amanda replies, and he can hear a grin in her voice.

“Amanda …”

“Tell me all about _your_ day, Toddy. How many guests did you want to punch in the fucking face?”

Dirk has finished cleaning up after himself and is now guiding the customer towards the lotion section. He’s talking animatedly, probably about the workers the bath company strives to pay an ethically-conscious wage to harvest their lavender cuttings.

“Six? I’m seeing a number between one and twenty.”

“Sure,” says Todd noncommittally.

“Todd.”

“Hmm?”

Now Dirk’s laughing. In Todd’s experience, Dirk is the kind of person who laughs a lot, so this shouldn’t be making him feel slightly sour just because it’s at someone else’s joke and not his.

“To-odd. Todd? _Todd_.”

Todd forces his attention back to Amanda. “Sorry, yeah. It’s just – go on.”

Amanda doesn’t go on. She sighs again, quietly. “Dude. Just hang up on me.”

“No, no,” Todd hurries to reassure her, “I’m sorry, I’m being a dick –”

“No, I’m being annoying,” Amanda says bluntly. “I’m doing the whole kid sister routine. It’s your part as the cool older brother to hang up on me.”

“I’m not gonna hang up on you,” Todd tries to protest.

“You used to,” she says, “back before. I’d call you up just to annoy you and you’d hang up on me after a few minutes. It was like, our thing.”

He attempts a laugh, but it comes out breathy and uneasy, “Why are you asking me to hang up on you? You called me, remember?”

Amanda is silent for a moment.

“Amanda?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and she sounds defeated, and Todd realizes he’s let her down yet again.

“Wait, I didn’t –”

She hangs up on him. Todd is left with the echoes of his own guilt, as usual. He knows she isn’t really angry with him. He almost wishes she was – she certainly has the right to be. Instead she’s just disappointed, which everyone knows is worse than angry anyway.

Todd leans back against the doorway of the store, staring down at his phone, feeling the waves of guilt work away at his insides. Sometimes he wonders what he would feel like without them there. They’ve been washing away at him for so long that the sensation has become numbed. It’s somehow a frightening thought, the idea of living without the guilt; it makes his pulse pick up and his chest tighten for reasons he can’t pin down. He just knows that having that constant tide inside him is at least that – constant, even if it is wearing him down piece by piece. And if it _does_ wear him down, does it really matter?

If Todd’s self is a cliff-face being eroded by guilt, then by now it’s so misshapen that he can’t remember what it looked like to begin with. What’s left of him that’s worth trying to save?

A sound draws his attention: Dirk’s laughter. Todd’s eyes lift up from the floor, where they’ve been staring sightlessly for god knows how long. Dirk is with a different customer now, a woman in her late thirties who has a little girl with her. The girl can’t be older than five; she’s dressed in pink and green and both her small palms are coated in a thick layer of golden glitter – most likely from the golden, egg-shaped bath product that her mother is holding.

Dirk is bent half-double as the little girl reaches for his headwrap, which she’s clearly fascinated with. Now her hands tickle his ears as they brush against them, and Dirk laughs again. The girl is leaving trails of glitter all through his hair.

Todd’s entire chest has filled with a warmth which both expands and tightens the air in his lungs. It makes him feel a bit stupid, a bit embarrassed – but he’s light now. He’s back in the moment. He remembers something with a flip in his stomach, and unlocks his phone again.

‘ _Purple grey black white stripes._ ’

The Google search turns up exactly what he’d suspected. Dirk’s stripe sticker, like Panto’s, is a pride flag. Todd clicks the image section and scrolls until he sees a result that looks just like Dirk’s sticker. It’s an asexuality flag.

Well. That would explain the joke about not being interested in the Sex Bomb.

Todd Googles ‘ _asexuality_ ,’ and he does so, tries to ignore the nerves in the pit of his stomach. Key phrases pop up again and again; ‘ _lack of sexual attraction_ ,’ ‘ _low or absent levels of sexual attraction_ ,’ as well as words like ‘ _spectrum_ ,’ and ‘ _sub-identities_.’ Suggested videos include a Buzzfeed clip titled “ _Ask An Asexual Person_.” Under _People Also Ask_ is ‘ _what causes a person to be asexual?_ ’ and ‘ _can asexuals fall in love?_ ’

Todd opens the last link.

‘ _In other words, a person can be asexual, aromantic, or both. So long as an asexual is not aromantic, then yes, they can fall in love. I know that for a lot of sexual people, romantic love and sex are pretty much inseparable_.’

_There_ , says the nasty voice in the back of Todd’s brain. _He’s asexual. You’re not. You can’t have him. You can’t have him, and you’re a fucking creep for wanting him in the first place._

For a moment he’s stunned by the vehement cruelty of his own intrusive thoughts. Then, in the silence, the little voice, the fledgling voice, speaks up.

_I don’t want to “have” him though. I just like him. I like him a lot._

_No, you don’t_ , snaps back the nasty voice derisively. _You don’t like anyone. You don’t even like yourself._

Across the store, Dirk is giggling as the little girl stripes his cheeks with gold glitter. He doesn’t exactly seem to be enjoying the sensation of her no-doubt sticky child fingers on his skin – he’s wriggling slightly and wrinkling his nose – but her evident joy is obviously holding him place.

_God, I like him. I like him so much it’s almost easy not to care how stupid and embarrassed I feel about liking him._

Five minutes later, Todd sidles up to Dirk, feeling silly and almost shy. Dirk beams at the sight of him.

“Sir! I thought you’d left.”

“I was waiting for you to finish with the other customer,” Todd says without thinking. “I mean – not that you were – I don’t expect you to hang around waiting on me. I was the one who had to … It was my sister. On the phone. Sorry about that.”

Dirk seems to be able to decipher that mess for the accidental-compliment-turned-apology it is, and he looks happier than Todd can really stand to look at face-on. It lasts only a split-second, before Dirk tries to shrug casually. “Well. I _am_ indispensable to you, aren’t I?”

Todd smiles, raising his eyebrows. “Are you? I dunno. I think I know the catalogue pretty well by now.”

“No, sir, you’d be lost without me,” Dirk corrects him, leading him back over to the bath crates. “I help you … ‘ _keep things in cosmic order_.’” He flicks one finger at a sign for a yellow and peach-colored bath bomb.

Todd snorts a quiet, almost-laugh. Dirk looks delighted.

“So,” he says after a moment, “we were discussing bath bombs.”

“Were we?” says Todd, feigning confusion.

Dirk doesn’t seem to catch onto the playfulness – probably because Todd hasn’t done ‘playful’ in years and is very rusty at it.

“Well,” Dirk looks to the side, his cheeks pinkening. “I suppose we were discussing taste. In bath bombs, that is.”

Todd should probably say something smooth, something honest but subtle that will communicate – if Dirk is even implying what Todd thinks he is – that he, Todd, is probably fundamentally incompatible. He really should, for once in his life, not be selfish.

Instead he just stands there, says, “I guess – I …” and trails off. He feels excruciatingly aware that he probably looks like an idiot.

Dirk goes to pick up the Sex Bomb again, opening his mouth to say something – but Todd steps in and leans around him. Dirk stiffens as Todd enters his space, and for a very brief second Todd feels the flutter of Dirk’s stuttering breath tickle his neck. Then Todd steps away with a bath bomb in hand.

“I like this one better,” he says as smoothly as he can muster, even though he can feel his face growing warm. The bath bomb is blue, shaped like a cloud. It reminds him irrepressibly of the man standing in front of him.

Dirk’s face eases into a smile filled with gentle, happy surprise. “That’s … one of my favorites, actually.”

“Mmm,” Todd smiles back at him.

Dirk glances at the Sex Bomb. “What do you think of –”

Todd replies quickly, before his brain has time to overthink, “I think I can live without it.” He raises the blue bath bomb. “I’ll get this one today. Help me pick out another?”

Dirk’s mouth is hanging open slightly, but now he straightens, perking up so rapidly that Todd almost worries he’s going to start vibrating. “Yes! Of course! Er – yes! I can do that!”

Dirk chatters at full speed for the rest of Todd’s visit, and every few minutes Todd catches him in his peripheral vision, smiling to himself in the same softly surprised kind of way. Todd himself feels a little bit like he’s floating, but not on air. It’s a feeling that reminds him of childhood summers spent drifting on his back in the local swimming pool, gazing up into the sun and the sky, weightless. Todd can’t remember the last time he felt weightless.

He knows, in his rational mind, that the entire conversation’s subliminal messages may well be a product of Todd’s lonely, slightly crush-sick mind. He knows that he’s probably delusional, looking for interest where there isn’t any. But for whatever reason, Dirk’s happy, and that’s more than enough to make Todd feel pleasantly light-headed.

He’s not entirely sure whether that’s selfish of him.

 

* * *

 

The next day Amanda is at first so aggressively normal that Todd’s guilt nearly drowns him on the spot. It’s only when he manages to get her talking about her latest experiments with putting three different kinds of bath bar pieces together that she brightens. Slowly she becomes more animated, more like herself. They’re able to go back to pretending that the slowly deepening rift between them – the one which Todd knows is his fault – doesn’t exist at all.

But underneath the bright whitewash of their conversation Todd still feels the guilt staining his insides. He feels so bad about letting her down, about his failure to be even an approximation of the brother she deserved. He knows that he can’t possibly be that person, but he owes it to her to at least try to pretend he is. So he tries.

It’s a pretense that’s been wearing away at Todd the same way the guilt does, but it’s all that’s left. The pretense of normality and the way things used to be between him and his sister, bath bombs, shower scrubs, and the ghosts of in-jokes kept barely alive. Todd knows it’s just another way of lying to her, and therefore he hates it, but at this point … he’s really not sure that there’s anything truthfully good left in him. The truth of the matter is ugly, and messy, more than Amanda can or should have to deal with, more than Todd is brave enough to admit to. The best thing he has to offer, at this point, is more lies.

No matter how exhausting the pretense is, it’s a better alternative than opening a closet that only contains skeletons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: I am very tired no words for writing of disclaimer, but obviously the definitions of asexuality/a-spec given here are simplistic. todd is doing his best, equipped only with google, just as I am doing my best, equipped only with my boundless determination to upload a chapter loosely on schedule despite my body desperately trying to hit the 'sleep' button
> 
> please leave a review if you wish to tip me by soothing my prostrate body with the tides of good will, or if u r gay (no one will know which!!!)


	4. And All Of The Things You Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd and Dirk have another discussion about bath bombs ... sort of. Todd and Amanda also have a discussion, but it's actually about bath bombs.

Two weeks later, Todd’s search history has progressed beyond ‘ _asexuality’_ to ‘ _do sexual people date asexuals_ ,’ through ‘ _do asexual people feel attraction_ ’ and onto ‘ _kinds of attraction_ ’ and finally, most embarrassingly, ‘ _do asexual people get married?_ ’ He deletes the last one because just looking at it makes him cringe. Then he deletes the rest because he realizes the entire rabbit hole is incriminating enough, and if Amanda gets ahold of his phone she’s going to think he’s having some sort of crisis.

Not that Todd isn’t having a crisis. Stupidly, it’s not the asexual thing that’s provoking the crisis though – it’s the fact that he _isn’t_ having a crisis about it. Todd’s brain, or at least the part of it currently occupied by the rapidly advancing crush on Dirk, doesn’t seem to have registered Dirk’s possibly incompatible orientation as more than a blip on the radar. Which is … alarming. The _implications_ are alarming.

Some of the implications are things that Todd is nowhere near ready to admit might even exist. He doesn’t want to look at them. They’re too big, too … formless and still taking shape. But he can put his finger on a couple of reasons why maybe his brain isn’t concerned. Perhaps it’s because there’s no way Dirk is seriously interested in him, so whether or not their orientations are incompatible is irrelevant. Perhaps it’s because Todd’s done enough research by now to be fairly confident that Dirk being asexual might not _actually_ mean they’re totally incompatible.

Todd doesn’t really understand most of the jargon involved. He barely attended the one sociology class he took in college before dropping out, and despite vaguely identifying as bi since his teens he’s never been overly involved in activism beyond a brief spree of punk graffiti, aged nineteen. Still, he’s read enough to understand that there are a _lot_ of variables involved. Asexuality, it seems, differs from person to person and relationship to relationship. Even though Todd himself isn’t asexual, it’s entirely possible that he and Dirk could still have a happy, functional relationship, regardless of whether or not that relationship includes some amount of sex at some point. At least that’s what the asexual strangers on the internet seem to be saying.

Todd is already getting embarrassingly ahead of himself though, thinking about the possibility of an actual relationship when he’s not even completely sure that Dirk _is_ intentionally flirting with him. Sometimes, he thinks, yes. Probably. Maybe. Mostly. Then he feels stupid, and the two voices in his head begin to argue again. The smaller voice is increasingly insistent that there’s no other way to interpret Dirk’s behavior, which seems to be getting more and more outrageous over time. The nasty voice is equally insistent that Todd is a bisexual moron who’s reading into things way too much.

This isn’t the most painful thing that the nasty voice has to say, not by far. The nasty voice whispers about Dirk being an employee trying to sell Todd a product and a brand. It prods relentlessly at the bruises of Todd’s insecurities, tells him he’s stupid and self-centered. It tells Todd that it’s ridiculous to imagine Dirk being interested in him, and creepy to be as attracted to Dirk as he is.

That’s another thing prompting his crisis. Surely, he should feel guiltier about checking Dirk out whenever Dirk bends down in front of him – and Dirk bends down in front of him a lot. And Todd can’t seem to tear his stupid bisexual eyes away – it’s like back in high school when Jordan Sloane’s gang used to call him ‘Creeper Eyes.’ Todd’s been painfully aware ever since that when he stares, it’s really obvious – his eyes are like huge goggly headlights, and he’s hyperconscious that being stared at by them is probably unpleasant for most people. He should feel bad for staring at Dirk.

Todd knows he should feel a huge rush of self-recrimination whenever he finds himself staring at Dirk’s mouth, or his eyelashes, or his neck, or his legs. He’s positive that he should at least feel nauseous when he starts fantasizing about running his hands through Dirk’s hair, pulling him close, finding out exactly how much Dirk likes a French kiss … But he doesn’t. It’s hard to feel guilty about it when Dirk has caught Todd staring at his ass on no less than five separate occasions and, instead of looking uncomfortable, Dirk has looked undeniably pleased with himself. Todd’s almost certain that on one occasion Dirk actually fetched something from a top shelf for the sole purpose of wiggling his ass in Todd’s face and saying, “Sir, I can’t reach it – push my bum, make me go up!”

So yes, Todd is clearly an awful person with no regard for Dirk’s feelings. Even if it seems at times that Dirk is flirting with him like it’s going out of fashion. Even if Dirk doesn’t seem to mind Todd’s Creeper Eyes at all. Todd is aware that there’s a contradiction somewhere in his logic, but looking it in the face is daunting – and in turn, considering why it might be daunting is even more terrifying.

Everything about this is a little bit terrifying. Every time Dirk smiles at him and Todd feels his heartbeat spin out of control, he has to look away. By the time they reach nearly the three-month mark on Todd’s visits, Dirk’s … behavior is getting extremely difficult to ignore. It really doesn’t help that Dirk seems to thrive on making Todd turn red.

“Sir,” Dirk says slowly one day, when Todd’s back is turned.

Todd’s come to associate that particular, mischievous tone with behavior that’s going to give him heart palpitations, so he doesn’t turn around.

“Yeah?” he says, his eyes fixed determinedly on the shampoo bars in front of him.

“Sir. Sir, look.”

Todd tries to delay the inevitable. “Hmm?”

“ _Sir_.”

Todd gives into his fate. He turns around.

Dirk is holding up a large purple bath bomb the size of his hand. This in itself would be inoffensive, were it not for the fact that the bath bomb is shaped exactly like an eggplant emoji, and Dirk is grinning like a little shit.

“What do you think?”

Todd manages to look back at him without blinking. “I think that falls into the category of ‘would be weird to give my sister.’”

Dirk rolls his eyes, “I meant for you.”

Dirk still does this periodically – tries to figure out what sort of bath bombs Todd would like, and then, unsubtly, drops them and slips the broken bits into Todd’s bag. Todd has a small but growing pile of smashed up bombs, melts, and bars at home now. He hasn’t had the time or the nerve to try one out yet, and he feels guilty every time he remembers them because Dirk must be taking them out of his salary. Dirk never asks after them though. Neither of them have even admitted aloud that Dirk is breaking them and Todd is failing to turn them down.

Todd bites back a quip about what people would think if Dirk slipped his eggplant into Todd’s bag in front of everyone. That’s definitely not what Dirk’s trying to imply here. Dirk’s just being nice, being the kindest person Todd has ever met. It’s treatment that Todd neither deserves nor knows how to process.

_Dirk’s asexual, remember, idiot?_ says the nasty voice. _And you’ve got a dirty mind. You know he’s not actually –_

_What?_ interrupts the small voice, which lately hasn’t been as small usual. _Deliberately bringing up things he knows will fluster me because he wants to see me get flustered? Because maybe he likes me too?_

Dirk is still looking at him expectantly, and Todd realizes that he and the warring factions of his brain have been staring at him like a freak for half a minute.

“Um, I … What do you think of it?” he asks pathetically.

Dirk looks down at the bath bomb, as if genuinely surprised that Todd is asking. “Oh. Oh, I don’t think what I feel should matter much, should it?”

He says it so cheerfully, so blithely, and that makes it worse. Todd blanches.

“Dude, what the – of course it matters!” He’s talking way too loudly, and usually he would feel self-conscious. In the moment, however, he’s more focused on dissuading Dirk from ever thinking something like that again.

Dirk just looks confused. “I just mean … it’s a bath bomb for you.”

“Yeah, but …” Todd doesn’t really know why this is so upsetting. That’s something he’ll have to unpack later in the comfort of his own run-down apartment. “You’re … recommending it to me. I …” Todd forces the words out as if he’s pushing them over a precipice, and they really don’t want to fall. “I care about your … opinion.”

For once, Dirk is the one looking at him side-on, as if he’s trying to work out what Todd’s saying. Todd can’t really help him with that, because _he’s_ not entirely sure what he’s saying. He just knows it means something more than bath bombs. He’s got a feeling it’s linked to how he’d felt, up to this point, that it was okay to notice, look at, and think about Dirk’s … everything, as long as he kept things PG-13.

“These … these products you’ve been – picking out for me,” Todd says, acknowledging their unspoken agreement for the first time and seeing Dirk’s eyes widen as he does so, “have you …?” He struggles to find the perfect words. They have to be the right words.

The nasty voice tries to say something, but he punches it back to the furthermost corner of his mind and pushes on.

“Have you just been picking them because … you think that’s what I want?” he asks, feeling wracked with something – something that isn’t guilt, but is like it. “Or are you … are you also giving them to me because you _want_ to?”

Dirk stares at him for a moment, like a rabbit that’s not only been caught in the headlights but unexpectedly picked up, then touched very gently on the cheek. When something clicks in his eyes, the disbelief there is a little heartbreaking in its own right. Suddenly Todd feels very angry, because there’s no way Dirk just decided on his own that his feelings and boundaries didn’t matter. There’s someone out there who put that idea in his head, and Todd wants to hit them.

The sudden, dark impulse is a little frightening in its intensity, and Todd shrinks back from it internally. God, he’s awful. He’s an awful person.

“You’re …”

Dirk is speaking; Todd elbows his self-hatred out of the way in order to focus.

“You’re really nice,” Dirk says, and to Todd’s horror he looks like he’s going to tear up.

_Great. Good job, asshole. You made him cry. First you creep on him and then you make him cry._

Dirk’s hand on his arm silences the nasty voice, and Todd realizes that Dirk isn’t upset – he’s touched.

“I …” Dirk swallows, looking a little sheepish. “I may have been … trying to impress you, but it’s –”

“You don’t have to impress me,” Todd says, “I’m already impressed.”

_Too much. Dial it back. Dial it back._

Todd goes to say something, something much more chill and less weird, but Dirk looks so happy, so touched, that he stops himself. He lets the not-chill, slightly-weird sentiment settle in the air between them. Dirk is smiling softly, as if Todd is incredibly special and Dirk just can’t believe he’s stumbled upon him.

Todd tries to believe that’s what Dirk’s thinking, anyway. It’s difficult to do, because Todd knows the truth. He knows he’s not special. He knows he’s been checking Dirk out constantly. He knows he has to stop.

Then Dirk’s expression shifts. He looks shy; his fingers curl slightly around Todd’s arm.

“Sir,” he says, “you should – also know. Impressing you aside … I – well, I … er …”

Oh god, Dirk has to stop stammering. He has to stop – Todd is going to have a heart-attack right here in the middle of this fucking shopping mall.

Dirk stops stammering, but nearly gives Todd the heart-attack anyway when he says, “I do like it when you – when I … give you things.”

Todd’s thoughts are starting ricochet out of the PG-13 arena; he shoves them back successfully but the price is the warmth he can feel burning in his cheeks.

“I … I mean I was, maybe, not thinking of my own … You know, no one’s ever really –” Dirk stops himself, winces, then says very fast, “I _was_ trying to impress you, but it’s also nice when you – when I give you things, and you take them. I like it. I _really_ like it.”

Todd’s face is so hot, his brain itself seems to be fizzing slightly.

_Okay_ , says the small voice, loudly and impatiently. _Come on. Come_ on _._

_Shut up! Get your mind out of the fucking gutter. You’re just talking about the bath bombs he’s been giving you_ , the nasty voice tries to say in its usual derisive tone, but it doesn’t sound so confident as before.

_No, I don’t think we are_ , says the small voice, and now it’s noticeably smug. _I think we’re talking about how he likes catching me staring at him._

“I …” Dirk lowers his voice. “There’s only so much I can – I’m comfortable … giving.”

Todd clears his throat, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. “I mean. Some of this shit is pretty expensive. I don’t expect you to like, slip me one of the lotions or anything.” He struggles to meet Dirk’s eyes, his cheeks still burning.

He wants to tell Dirk that the things he’s already given Todd have meant so much; the baths bombs and the smiles and the kindness. They’ve been gifts that are almost overwhelming. He wants to tell Dirk it doesn’t matter to him – whatever Dirk is willing to give him is more than he expects, more than he deserves by far. He’s not waiting around for anything. He doesn’t want anything that Dirk doesn’t feel like giving freely.

He doesn’t know how to begin saying any of that, and it’s uncomfortably passionate to think even in the privacy of his own mind, so he just says, “I’m not … I’m not holding out hope that you’re gonna – I don’t know, secretly give me ten face masks one day. You know that, right?”

Dirk looks like he’s going to cry again. He nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

Todd’s about to tell Dirk, very firmly, that he doesn’t need to thank him at all. Todd is the one who should be thanking Dirk. Dirk, of course, has already set upon something else to make Todd’s train of thought melt like sugar in hot coffee.

“Just so I’m … clear.” Dirk lets go of Todd’s arm, but as he does so his fingers trail down half its length, and Todd has to focus very hard on not shivering. “I would hate – I don’t want you to stop. Taking the things I … give you. And I’m not planning on stopping either. Just, you know.” He smiles, an echo of the mischievous grin from before. “So you know.”

_Oh, dear_ god _._

Dirk turns away, leaving Todd staring after him, his heart thudding wildly and half a dozen swearwords running through his brain. He doesn’t know what to be sure of now, not at all – except maybe that Dirk’s an insane person who’s insinuated himself into Todd’s heart with a variety of deliberately sabotaged, fragrant bath bombs.

 

* * *

 

After that revelation, Todd finds that things quickly begin to get truly out of hand. Now that the status of things has advanced from ‘ _I think he’s flirting, possibly, maybe_ ’ to the far more dangerous ‘ _oh, he’s definitely flirting, and apparently I’m allowed to enjoy it_ ,’ it’s getting harder and harder to stay away from the bath store, let alone ignore Dirk’s advances.

Todd can only think again that he can’t possibly be _seriously_ interested in Todd. Not seriously. Not as in … looking to start something between them. Surely Dirk’s just the kind of person who likes flirting, or likes being admired. Todd still doesn’t know exactly what category of asexual Dirk is, so it’s quite possible that flirting is as far as Dirk’s interested in going. Likely even, because Dirk hasn’t asked him out in the three and half months that Todd’s been visiting the store, or even tried to slip him his number.

And what evidence is there that Dirk would actually be interested in a relationship with him? _Him_ , Todd Brotzman, all-round loser, liar, and scruffy low-income bellboy? They’ve had two conversations about bath bombs that _seem_ to have doubled as dances around the subject of Dirk’s orientation, and all that’s been established is that Dirk doesn’t mind Todd staring at his ass.

There are brief times, still, when the nasty voice in his head interjects that maybe Todd imagined the subtext of both those conversations. Even worse, it tries to suggest that maybe Dirk’s just messing with him, maybe he just wants Todd to keep coming back and spending his money and making an idiot of himself – and Todd shoves it back. He has an immediate, visceral reaction, because Dirk isn’t like that. Dirk is kind, Dirk is warm, Dirk is sweet – Dirk wouldn’t flirt with him just to mess with him.

Todd doesn’t know what to think. He has to return to the things that have made up his certainties for the past six years, the things he knows for sure. The number one thing he knows for sure is that he’s an asshole, and assholes don’t deserve nice things. Dirk’s just about the nicest thing Todd’s ever seen in his miserable little life.

Todd can’t do anything about it, and he’s not even sure he’s being invited to – so he does his best to walk the line of spending as much time with Dirk as possible while ignoring his own very persistent feelings. On good nights he allows himself the luxury of falling asleep to thoughts of pulling Dirk into his bed and holding him close until they’re both deep in dreams. He showers Amanda in more bath products than he can afford to be buying, and tries his best to weather the guilt and the exhaustion.

Of course, then a new problem is thrown into the mix.

“Hey,” Amanda says one day as they’re sitting on her couch, and Todd tenses immediately.

It’s the voice he quickly recognizes as the same one she used on him as an adorable six-year-old, when she’d snapped one of the steel strings on his acoustic and was trying to work out how mad he was going to be about it.

“Yes …” he says, warily.

“I was thinking,” she opens with, which is never a good sign. “I love the bombs you’ve been picking out. Don’t get me wrong. But …”

Todd’s heart picks up. This is it. She’s going to tell him she’s over it, she doesn’t want any more. He’s not going to have any excuse to go back to the bath store. For the single moment that he thinks he’s not going to be able to see Dirk again, his chest constricts so suddenly and so painfully that he has to gulp the pain back down. The reaction is deeply alarming. He tries, as subtly as possible, to rub his hand against his chest. He very deliberately chooses not to think about why his entire body is freezing up.

“Yeah?” he says stiffly.

He seems to be successful at feigning normality, because Amanda doesn’t shoot him any weird looks. Admittedly, she’s stretching her arms and looking off to the side, not at him, so maybe that’s why she doesn’t notice. Todd doesn’t know how else she can’t; he feels tenser than solid rock.

“I know I can’t really come to the store,” she says slowly, completely unaware that the more laborious she is, the more Todd feels like his organs are flooding with icy water. “But I was looking at the website, and …”

“What is it?” Todd says; it comes out faster than he’d meant it to.

Amanda looks at him then, and she sits up when she sees the look on his face – whatever that is.

“Hey, no, I don’t hate the ones you got,” she reassures him, “I love ‘em. I totally do. I just … They have some really cool ones, and I get this feeling that …” she winces, “you avoid the coolest ones so I won’t have an attack? Which is – like, it’s sweet. But …”

“But?” Todd looks back at her, on edge.

Amanda just stares at him for a minute, her mouth still in that careful sort of wince – then she bursts out, “I want the cool shit, man! Like, on the website, there’s this one that’s all these sick colors, like really bright yellows and pinks and reds, and they all swirl together in the bath …”

Todd’s mind relaxes at Amanda’s first words. His body, however, takes longer. It slowly unwinds as Amanda talks, unclenching in bits and pieces as he tries frantically not to think about why the thought of never seeing Dirk again absolutely stole his breath. Way too much to unpack there. Way too much implied. Definitely not going to think about that.

“… And there’s another one, it pops like one of the others you got me, but again – super bright colors and loads of glitter, and the smell is supposed to be like –”

“Manda, I don’t know,” Todd cuts over her gently, as soon as he regains his faculties enough to do so. “I’ve seen some of the demos they do in the store. The colors are like – they’re a lot.”

Amanda deflates slightly, as if she knew this would be his response. “Yeah, but … It’s just colors.”

Todd wonders if he should remind her about what happened when they went to see _Into The Spider-Verse_ together. Apparently he doesn’t have to though, because she takes one look at his face and seems to guess his objections.

“Okay, but they’re not like – It’s a bath. A bath is relaxing,” she says, somewhat defensively.

“But with the smell too, like – I mean, some of the citrus ones kind of fuck with me. The first time I smelt one, I thought I was gonna …”

Amanda is beginning to look rebellious. Todd tries his best to cut it off quickly, responsibly.

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. I’m sorry,” he adds, because her expression is making him feel so anxious with guilt that he almost feels sick.

Amanda makes a jerky, frustrated arm movement, as if she’s about to pull at her hair but stops herself. She leans back on the couch, shifting in her spot. Just as Todd’s about to apologize again, she puts up a hand to stop him as if she knows exactly what’s about to come out of his mouth.

“Okay, no. Look,” she turns her head towards Todd and fixes him with a careful look, “full disclosure. I _have_ already had an attack in the bath.”

Todd’s chest, which had only recently completely relaxed, seizes up again so fast he nearly gets the emotional equivalent of whiplash. The icy water is back in his lungs. Amanda moves to grab his arm, but aborts the movement halfway. She turns her whole body around to face him properly once again, pulling her legs up onto the couch.

“Todd. Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’m fine.” She puts her hands out for him to take if he needs to. “See? I’m fine.”

Todd doesn’t dare touch her, even though he wants to. He doesn’t know which he feels more right now, terrified or furious.

“Todd, seriously, it’s okay. It happened, I was fine, everything was fine,” Amanda says hurriedly, “I wasn’t going to tell you, because I knew you’d freak out, and –”

“Oh, you think?” Todd snaps, then reigns himself in. He takes a breath. “You could have drowned.”

“But I didn’t,” is her calm reply. “And don’t even start getting stupid ideas about banning me from bath bombs, because you know what? It actually helped.”

Todd stops freezing up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Amanda raises her eyebrows. “It’s like, the only thing that’s ever helped. It wasn’t … It’s not like it cured it, or anything. It was just like – like I’ve been doing all these meditation routines, and –”

Todd snorts loudly at the word ‘meditation.’

“No, really, meditation actually fucking worked for once,” she insists, sitting up with a half-grin. “I know every white woman you ever met in college was like ‘ _oh get her to try meditation_ ’ but it’s like … doing it in the bath, focusing on – I don’t know, manually resetting my body …” Amanda’s eyes drift over his shoulder as she thinks. “Remember how we had that one therapist who was all, physical health and mental health and emotional health are all ‘connected’ and shit? I think it was like that. My body built up this muscle memory of being calm, and being still – not all tensed up and hyperventilating. And when the attack came on … like, I felt it right before because I _felt_ my body change. I mean, it still hurt. It hurt like hell.” She nudges Todd, slightly awkwardly, trying to inject some humor into the situation. “You know how it be.”

Todd can’t laugh, and he can’t really conjure up a response, other than to ask, “What happened?”

Amanda shrugs. “You know. Knifey stuff. Oldie but a goldie, I guess.”

“No, I mean,” Todd says quickly, because he hates asking Amanda for details of her attacks, for more reason than one, “how did it … help?”

“It still hurt, but it felt like it was my _body’s_ pain. It was separate from me, who I am – my mind. The bath is where I chill out. It’s where I’m calm. It’s _my_ place. So when the pain hit … it was my pain. I had control over it. There was a knife in my hand, but … I breathed. I felt the water.” She slows down, frowning. “I imagined myself pulling it out. Pulling it out and holding it. Just that, over and over, and breathing. I couldn’t see it happening, but it helped imagining it. It wasn’t like how it normally is, where your whole body just freaks out over what is and isn’t happening. It was like I could just … ride it out. Until it was over.”

Todd stares at her. Amanda meets his eyes, looking hesitant, unsure. She’s waiting for his reaction.

Todd finds his voice after a long moment. “Amanda …” he croaks, “what if it hadn’t –”

“No, Todd,” Amanda insists gently, “listen. I’m careful, I’m like, _so_ careful. I promise. I don’t fill the bath all the way up, so even if I just lie there my head is above the water. I always have the phone right next to me. I’ve got you on speed-dial. It’s not like when I lived across town, I’m two streets away now.”

“But …” Todd swallows, and says again, “Amanda. You could have _drowned_.”

She sighs. She looks tired, and older than just twenty-three. “Dude. I have like, the only condition in the world that means I can drown anywhere. Not just in the bath. I can’t go to the movies. I can’t go to shitty concerts, or clubs, I never got into college. I didn’t finish high-school. I can’t even go for a walk without, like, a gust of wind completely fucking me over. But this one thing … even when the worst happens, it’s not so bad. It’s still total shit, but it’s the only time I feel like I’m in control of that shit. That _matters_. Feeling like I can own my own pain matters. You’d understand that, right?”

Todd turns away, his emotions twisting and turning inside him like a whirlpool. “Yeah,” he replies quietly.

“Todd.” Amanda reaches out, and very lightly puts her hand over his. It’s a barely-there pressure. She’s being so careful. “I need this. I can’t go through life just – ‘ _you can’t do this, you can’t do that_.’ I have to have some good things. Good things are worth the risk.”

Todd looks back at his sister, feeling her words resonate inside him, then slip around the corners of his brain, like an abstract painting he can’t quite make sense of. Not just yet. Still, he turns his hand over and returns her hand-hold, feather-light.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll tell – I’ll let the bath store guy know. I guess we may as well go all out.”

Amanda’s face splits into a grin so huge that Todd can’t find it in him to do anything but smile back.


	5. When You Are Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thought Todd Was Stupid And In Denial Before? Incident No. 34 Of His Low Esteem Stupidity Will Shock You!

At the next bath store visit, Dirk is elevated to new heights of delight by the news that they no longer have to hold back. He flaps his hands the way he sometimes does when apparently overwhelmed with joy, a habit which Todd finds hopelessly endearing. Todd follows him around the store as they pick out three new bath bombs for the occasion; two full of cartoonishly bright colors, and one shaped like a black rose and dusted with red glitter.

When Todd hands the bag over to Amanda she squeals and throws her arms around him. As he predicted, the black rose is the one she’s immediately obsessed with, and the next day he gets an all-caps text message from her proclaiming that it’s her new favorite. Apparently bathing in black water is something Amanda strongly feels she was born to do.

So Todd keeps going back to the store. He buys his sister bath bombs shaped like pirate chests and shooting stars. He spends nearly another entire month doing his best not to think about why the thought of never stepping foot in the bath store again was almost unbearable. His guilt rises up like the tide when Todd realizes that he likes making Amanda happy, but the frequency with which he buys her new products revolves entirely around his desire to see Dirk.

He needs to see Dirk. Every time he leaves the store after another Wednesday or Friday visit his step feels a little lighter, even if his pocket does as well. He thinks about Dirk constantly. Sometimes it’s because of some stupid meme Amanda has texted him that he thinks would make Dirk laugh, or because a yellow jacket worn by a detective on a shitty cop show is exactly the sort of thing Dirk would probably wear out of uniform. One morning Todd steps out his door and there’s a corgi being walked down his street, and he knows instantly that Dirk would love it. Worst of all, on one of his customary grocery trips with Amanda he ends up having to lie his way out of explaining why he turned red when the check-out attendant called him ‘sir.’

November passes swiftly in this fashion, (along with Todd’s uncelebrated thirty-fourth birthday), and by early December Todd’s visits to the bath store have been upped to an occasional twice-a-week. Supposedly this is because the colder the weather gets, the more baths Amanda takes, but Todd knows it’s probably got more to do with his total lack of self-control. Seeing Dirk for, at most, a measly half-an-hour a week, is starting to feel like it will never be enough. Todd wants to see him for longer, and although he knows that by now he could easily pick out products for Amanda on his own, he still makes a beeline for Dirk every time he steps into the store. Worse, he starts pushing the limits of how long he can get away with monopolizing Dirk’s time before other customers start giving him dirty looks.

Todd is probably the most pathetic guy to ever exist. Unfortunately, lately he’s been feeling too borderline giddy to care. It’s especially hard to care when Dirk, for his part, seems to be so happy. Todd has discovered there are now two people in his life who he would walk into an open warzone for, if only it would make them smile.

“Sir, stop!” Dirk laughingly protests one Wednesday in the bath store. He bats Todd in the side, hissing, “Stop it, you’re going to get me in trouble.”

The source of Dirk’s mock-ire is Todd poking fun at one of the specials the store is currently running. It’s some kind of collaboration with an 80s rock-star who’s trying – in vain, in Todd’s opinion – to make a comeback. It’s one of the few non-Christmassy things that has popped up in the bath store at the opening of the holiday season.

“I thought you were always in trouble,” Todd counters.

“Exactly,” says Dirk primly, “so I can’t afford to get in any more.”

“I’m just saying,” Todd grins, adjusting the bath bomb sign that reads ‘ _Lux-ury!: Rock out, chill out_ ,’ “the guy can’t sing for shit. Like, we’re talking absolute garbage. Can’t even do the whole ‘growly passing for moody’ thing. Then there’s the fur-coat-with-fake-blood look. Like that was ever going to catch on.”

“ _Sir_ ,” Dirk admonishes him, his eyes glancing across the store to where Panto is working, as if they’re two schoolboys swearing in the vicinity of their teacher. Still, he’s snickering at Todd’s jokes, which means Todd isn’t going to stop.

“And don’t even get me started on ‘Rapunzel,’” Todd adds, “that famous riff? Totally ripped it off Bowie and Mercury. Not even like sampling, just tried to basically rewrite ‘Under Pressure,’ changed half the syncopation so it sounds like shit, and then acted like nobody was going to notice if he named it after his dog.”

“Sir!”

“Like, we get it, you wish you were Bowie. Move on, dude.”

Dirk snorts with laughter. Todd watches Dirk’s nose wrinkle up and those creases around his eyes reappear. He realizes that he’s smiling to himself fondly, but he doesn’t bother to suppress it.

“That means … almost nothing to me,” Dirk admits.

Todd looks at him in surprise. “You don’t know Bowie? You’re serious?”

Dirk’s eyes dart to the side. “Um. Never heard of him.”

He must be joking. Todd frowns, “David Bowie? ‘Life On Mars’? He’s British. So is Freddie Mercury, actually. You know, from Queen.”

Dirk shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “Nope. Doesn’t … ring a bell.”

Todd doesn’t know if there’s a polite way to say, ‘ _but you’re clearly gay and British, how do you not know about Bowie and Queen_ ,’ so he says nothing.

In the slightly missed beat of the conversation, Dirk shifts his hips. He leans closer to Todd. “You seem to … know loads about them. Bowman and the Queen.”

Todd lets out a short burst of laughter, “I – Yeah, I guess.”

Dirk is looking at him intently. Whenever he does that Todd’s heart starts getting very nervous, very quickly. Now is no exception.

“Really is a pity I don’t know more about Jareth Bowie and Farrokh Mercury,” Dirk says, almost coyly. “You know, I just realized, I don’t even own any of their music. Do _you_ own any of their music, sir?”

Todd just stares at him, because Dirk is weird, so fucking weird, and Todd is constantly distracted by how much he likes it.

“Huh?” he says, because he can’t actually remember what Dirk has just asked him.

Dirk purses his mouth with just a hint of impatience. “Do you have any of their albums?”

“Oh, yeah!” Todd says, then corrects himself, “I mean, no. I mean, I’ve got _Aladdin Sane_ , and I think I had a copy of one of the Berlin albums but my bandmate sat on it.”

“Your bandmate?” Dirk perks up. “You’re in a band?”

Todd manages not to flinch as he replies, “Was.”

Dirk doesn’t seem to pick up that it’s a bitter subject. “What instrument did you play? Can you sing? Oh my god, can you write _songs_?”

His enthusiasm is enough to make Todd crack into an almost-smile. “I played guitar and a bit of keyboard. Mainly just guitar. I sang but that didn’t mean I was good at it. And yeah, occasionally. Again, not any good.”

Dirk is looking at him with open, undisguised admiration, as if Todd has just humbly confessed that he discovered String Theory.

“That’s … so _cool_ ,” Dirk sighs, “you’re so cool.”

Todd fights not to grin, or worse, blush. There’s a small part of him that wants to brag a little. Dirk looking at him like that is a bit addictive, and Todd wants to impress him further; tell him about how the band was actually on their way to being a small success, how they’d nearly got a couple of independent labels interested.

 _You never did though, did you?_ whispers the nasty voice. _You remember what actually happened, right?_

The sudden wave of guilt that washes against him is nauseating. Todd hasn’t felt one that overwhelming in weeks. He grips the shelf behind his back, trying to steady himself.

 _It was your fault_ , the nasty voice hisses, seizing upon him completely for the first time in a fortnight. _You fucked it up. And not just for you. You ruined their chances and stole their stuff and then lied and lied and lied. That’s what you do, you fuck things up and steal and lie._

Todd tries to swallow it down, but it’s strong – it’s been so long since he was this deeply submerged in the guilt that he’s forgotten how to swim against its tide.

_You don’t deserve to brag to him about it. You don’t deserve to look at him. You don’t deserve anything._

“Sir?” Dirk’s voice breaks through the rip he’s caught in. “Are you alright?”

He’s frowning with concern, ducking his head slightly to look into Todd’s eyes. He steps closer, and Todd’s heartbeat picks up, jolting him out of his swirling emotions like a little bolt of electricity.

“Fine,” Todd says, shaking himself out of it. “Probably just – a little dizzy. Long day.”

Dirk’s concern deepens. “Don’t you _ever_ rest, sir?”

Todd makes a vague noise, avoiding Dirk’s probing eyes. “You know what they say. No rest for the wicked.”

Dirk doesn’t say anything. His expression is soft and sad.

“It’s not …” Todd starts to say, trying to ease Dirk’s worry, but Dirk speaks over him quietly.

“I play piano,” he says, with a sober kind of earnestness. When Todd stares at him, he adds with a small smile, “Probably very different music to you. Classical stuff, hymns; a lot of folksongs. My mother loved ‘Für Elise.’”

Todd doesn’t know what to say. He feels the broiling waves inside him going as still as calm water.

Dirk clearly mistakes his silence for judgement; he looks suddenly self-conscious. “It’s – not exactly hot stuff, Beethoven, you’re probably not much into classical –”

“I started with piano,” Todd interrupts him, smiling. “I learned a really – this really basic version of Pachbell? Pacbell Canon?”

“‘Pachelbel’s Canon in D,’” Dirk supplies instantly.

“Wow, you’re …” Todd cuts himself off.

Dirk tilts his head, looking nervous. “What?”

Todd fumbles for the words, feeling very stupid as he finishes, “Smart. You’re – smart.”

Dirk’s face relaxes into one of his sunny grins. He bounces on his heels, “Why, thank you. You’re not so bad yourself, with all your …” he waves at hand at Todd’s general being, “cool, rock-music-knowing talk. And the guitar, and – You know I always wanted to learn guitar?”

“Really?” Todd says with some amusement.

“Oh yes,” Dirk nods so hard that his hair flops over his forehead, “I always thought – doing the whole …” He mimes an air riff, and grins when it makes Todd laugh. “You know. It looks like fun. Of course, my mum always said with my sort of voice I was better off with folksongs and hymns and all that, and you can’t really sing ‘Blow The Wind Southerly’ to electric bass, I suppose.”

 _Dirk can sing_ , hums the little voice with delight. _Dirk_ sings _._

Todd shushes it. _Stop it. Be cool._

He has no idea what ‘Blow The Wind Southerly’ is, but he says, “I don’t know. I reckon you could make it work.”

Dirk glows for a moment, then his smile turns odd – a little teasing, a little evasive. “Oh, but I’d need a teacher.”

Todd is still a little caught up in trying to imagine what Dirk’s singing voice would sound like. “Probably. If you’re just learning chords though, that’s pretty easy.”

“Still. Wouldn’t hurt. Though I do wonder where I could find someone who could teach me how to play guitar.”

“You could try Craigslist,” Todd suggests, somewhat absently. Dirk’s speaking voice already has a slightly lyrical quality to it. It’s not deep enough to be anything like a bass or even a baritone, but it would be sweet. A sweet tenor.

“I don’t know anyone called Craig,” Dirk says with confusion, and Todd is distracted from his calculations enough to snort.

“Oh, no, I mean like …” Todd stops. “You – Have you lived in the US for like, only a short time? You seem …”

Todd doesn’t want to say ‘weirdly clueless’ out loud, but Dirk seems to notice the unsaid implication.

“I had … a strange and often in flux childhood,” he says, as if that clears things up at all, “and then a strange and often in flux teenage-hood. And now a strange and often in flux adulthood. Just a lot of strangeness and mutability all around, really, and my interests can be … selective and a little unusual to mainstream tastes.” When Todd looks at him blankly, Dirk adds, with a sort of camp, sheepish shrug, “I grew up in foster-care and I’m what the kids call … ‘ _quirky_.’”

Todd laughs, then fully processes the first half of the sentence. “I mean, shit, sorry …”

“No, no …” Dirk waves a hand, smiling. “It’s okay to laugh, I’m very charming and funny. Obviously.”

He kind of is, but Todd has absolutely no intention of admitting that out loud. Instead though, because Todd is chronically stupid and chronically distracted by Dirk’s slightly bizarre attractiveness, he blurts out something much dumber and less meaningful.

“You’re like, really weird. I mean,” he tries to save himself, “nice-weird. Weird but it’s nice.”

Dirk smiles as if Todd as just paid him an unexpected compliment. “Oh, well. It comes naturally.”

They continue to smile stupidly at each other, and Todd realizes two things. One: they’ve just shared more information about themselves in one conversation than they have over the last four months. They’ve crossed over some sort of threshold, and it’s going to be difficult to go back. That’s a little frightening, but more so is realization number two: now that Todd knows one small handful of things about Dirk, he suddenly wants to know everything.

“What do you … do outside work?” Todd asks haltingly.

Dirk’s eyes brighten. All at once, he straightens; he seems tense like a fluttering bird. “Um, well, I …” he stutters.

Movement catches Todd’s eye – Dirk’s hands are fidgeting against the loops of his black jeans in a particularly transfixing way, accidentally flicking the edge of his shirt up. Glitter sparkles on his fingertips.

“I … I like music. As – as we discussed. I like – pulp mystery novels. Old sci-fi.”

“Like Star Trek?” Todd guesses.

Dirk’s brows crinkle. “Oh no, I haven’t seen any of those movies. I like sci-fi books, though! I – I find it difficult to concentrate, on words and … I like audiobooks. And things other than reading,” he adds hastily, “I like going out! I mean, well. I _don’t_ like going out, actually, I hate it. But I could do it – or, I mean,” Dirk takes a breath. He seems full of nervous, excited energy, though Todd isn’t sure why. The stuttering is sweet enough to make Todd’s processing capabilities a little hazy.

“I’m not comfortable with loud spaces, but I like walking in parks. And sometimes the movies. Or – or tea-shops?” He looks at Todd with wide, expectant eyes.

 _Oh god, he’s cute. He’s too fucking cute._ Todd bites back a smile.

“What’s your favorite author?” he asks, trying to soothe whatever is making Dirk nervous.

Dirk looks thrown, as if this isn’t the question he expected Todd to ask. “Er …? Christie? Agatha Christie.”

Now that’s something Todd knows, if only vaguely. “Oh yeah! So you like Poirot?”

“Marple, actually,” Dirk says, still looking bemused, “everyone always underestimates her.” He looks at Todd for a long moment, his eyebrows knitted together.

Todd isn’t sure how to interpret that expression, but he feels like he’s missed something. That’s never been one of his favorite things; it edges tension between his shoulder blades. He glances around the store for a new topic of discussion, one that maybe won’t run so close to home.

“Is that – hang on.” He reaches behind Dirk to something on the shelf next to them. “No way. A fidget spinner?” He picks it up; it’s some sort of bath bar shaped like a fidget spinner, and bright yellow. He holds it by the wooden center and spins; it works. “Okay, that’s actually …”

He hears Dirk let out a long, slow breath next to him. Todd glances at him and catches a look of frustration so surprising that he nearly drops the bath spinner. The look is gone before Todd can remark on it, swept away under a tight smile.

“Unbelievable,” Dirk says.

“Sorry?”

“It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?” He nods at the spinner. “Personally I rather think it’s blatant capitalizing on the upsurge in neurodivergent-originating products becoming suddenly fashionable, but then again if it means supply will actually meet demand then who are we to complain?”

Todd blinks. “Uh …”

Dirk shakes his head and dismisses Todd’s befuddlement. “Never mind. Do you think Amanda would like it?”

Todd considers the spinner. “Probably, yeah.”

“Well, we should get her green. You said she likes green better.” Dirk takes the spinner from him, and Todd’s stomach flops predictably as their fingers touch.

Dirk starts digging towards the back of the shelf for a green spinner. Todd looks at his back, trying to work out where their conversation fell off the wagon. It’s been an unusually long visit; the longest one Todd has ever been able to get. The shop is quiet today, but maybe he really has taken up too much of Dirk’s time. Maybe he bored the shit out of him with music ramblings. Maybe Dirk is getting sick of him.

When he used to think things like this, Todd would feel embarrassed and guilty. Now he just aches somewhere in his chest, which feels much worse. Inconveniently, it seems to make him even less inclined to leave the store, or even move further away from Dirk. It’s a small shop, always crowded with its displays, and this has always necessitated and, later, excused Todd standing much closer to Dirk than would usually be acceptable. Right now, he’s staring at Dirk’s ruffled hair and aching keenly to put his hand out and touch it. His fingers would probably come away covered in tiny specks of glitter.

Dirk turns around with a neon green spinner and catches Todd right in the middle of gazing at him like a total sap. Todd shies back, forcing his face into neutrality.

Dirk looks odd for a split second. There’s the shortest beat of tension, like a plucked guitar string. Dirk doesn’t seem annoyed, or even really surprised – it’s far from the first time he’s caught Todd looking at him. His eyes flick quickly up and down Todd’s form, and then Todd sees in them a glimpse of something unexpectedly … wily.

Dirk’s mouth, his very nice mouth, curves into a maddening smile that has just a hint of something defiant about it. Todd’s brain immediately flags it as ‘ _oh no._ ’

Dirk presses the spinner into Todd’s hand, ghosting his fingers over Todd’s palm. “I’ve used this one, actually. Just the other night.”

Todd stands there, holding the bath spinner and resisting the urge to narrow his eyes. “Right …” He has no idea where this is going, but it seems ominous.

“I got home after a really long shift, and my legs were just _aching_ ,” Dirk says, leaning back against the shelf. “There’s really nothing like a long, hot bath to relieve tension.”

Todd’s mouth goes dry. Oh, _no_.

He tries to change the subject in the most blasé fashion possible, “Yeah, I – I get sore legs sometimes after work. Or my back, you know, if there’s been a heavy luggage day –”

“You should get a massage,” Dirk cuts in smoothly. “I should give you a …” he clicks his fingers theatrically, as if putting on a show of trying to remember what to say, as if he _knows_ that Todd’s brain is slowly running riot the longer his sentence remains unfinished. “… What is it called?” He makes a motion with one hand that nearly makes Todd choke. “Rubbing …? The thing with the oil.”

Todd breathes in and out very consciously.

Finally Dirk snaps his fingers, “A massage bar!” He grins his silly, sweet grin. “They’re really _very_ flexible, you know. They’re designed to be used dry, but you can also use them wet to help soften your skin.”

 _Okay, that’s not so bad_ , Todd thinks. _Not too much provocative imagery there. I can face this deadpan._

“My favorite is the bee melt, though,” Dirk says slowly, moving closer. Side by side in front of the shelves, they’re now close enough for their sides to touch.

Dirk turns his head and leans in, and Todd fights not to stiffen when Dirk’s lowering voice continues half into his ear, “You can’t use that one dry. You use it in the bath or the shower, and rub it on your skin while it’s wet. It makes your skin _so_ nice, all soft and honey-smelling.”

Dirk’s tone is light, bordering on innocent, and so are his words, but they have a devastating effect.Todd, who had noticed for the last three visits that Dirk smelt like honey and had been tortured enough by it, is newly aggravated by the mental image of Dirk naked and wet, rubbing his skin with a bath melt. A spike of arousal goes through Todd, though not completely of the sexual kind.

If Dirk had sounded smug, or cocky, it probably would have rubbed Todd entirely the wrong way. It would have raised his hackles, made him tense up unpleasantly – because it would have felt like being the butt of Dirk’s joke. Or like a worm wriggling on a hook.

But Dirk doesn’t sound cocky. His words wind their way through Todd’s brain like drifts of sugar-sweet cotton candy; they melt in his mouth. Dirk is driving him a different kind of crazy, though surely he doesn’t mean to. He’s flirting, yes, but there’s no way he’s deliberately trying to make Todd picture him naked.

“It’s one of my ‘go-to-favorites,’ the bee melt,” Dirk is saying, still wearing that slightly mysterious smile, “I use it almost every day at the moment. It’s nice to have wind-down routines, you know.” He sighs as if in relief, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the shelves until Todd can see the line of his pale neck. “Come home, turn the shower on. Hot as possible. Take all my clothes off and just … let it all wash off me. Just stand under the water until everything’s loose again.”

 _Oh, Jesus fucking Christ._ Todd has to slam his foot on the mental brakes to stop his thoughts going in a direction that isn’t remotely PG-13.

“Or I have a bath,” Dirk continues. “Very hot, again – actually,” he laughs softly, “sometimes I accidentally run it too hot, then I have to sit on the edge of the bath absolutely starkers just waiting for it to cool down.”

 _That should be goofy_ , Todd tells himself. _That’s not attractive. That’s really goofy._

 _That’s Dirk_ , says the little voice in his head.

_Oh fuck, it is._

“When it’s the perfect temperature though …” Dirk bites his lip. “Sometimes I’m in there for hours.”

Todd stares at him. He can feel his heart in the back of his throat. He’s realized something new.

Dirk is sweet, yes. Dirk is kind. Dirk is warm.

Dirk is also kind of a bastard.

He’s doing it on purpose. He’s deliberately describing his bathing habits in excruciating detail, knowing full well that Todd is going to picture him in the shower, rivulets of water running down his neck and across his collarbones and –

_Mental brakes, mental brakes._

Dirk is smiling at him. The asshole. “Problem?” he asks lightly.

Todd shakes his head. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. For a moment, a wild idea enters Todd’s head: that Dirk is not only trying to get under his skin, but he _wants_ Todd to imagine him in the shower.

 _Maybe he wouldn’t mind if I imagined him while_ I  _was in the shower._

Todd does more than slam the brakes on that thought; he veers off the road entirely and into a bush. No matter what Dirk is implying, Todd has had these inclinations before and already made his decision. It doesn’t matter if Dirk’s okay with it. Todd isn’t okay with it. Imagining Dirk doing anything that real-Dirk wouldn’t want to awakens a sick feeling in Todd’s stomach. There are differences between fantasies and reality, yes, and maybe Dirk is fine with or even a little bit into the idea of Todd jerking off to thoughts of him – but Todd isn’t.

Checking Dirk out, fine. Fantasizing about making out with him, extensively, also fine. Dirk himself has hinted that he likes that. But actually imagining sex with Dirk when he knows that Dirk is somewhere on the asexual spectrum – not fine at all. It’s not just that he has no idea where Dirk’s boundaries would lie in reality. He knows enough about the way the asexual spectrum works to estimate the two most likely scenarios he could imagine wherein he and Dirk have sex. The first is in a long-term relationship, and that’s such a loaded idea that it feels like a sun that Todd doesn’t dare look directly in the face. It’s also a pipedream.

The second is a casual sex scenario. Sex just for benefit of their bodies with no emotions and no strings attached – for Dirk, simply a bit of … relieving tension. No actual sexual attraction to Todd involved; perhaps no attraction to Todd involved, period. That scenario is an infinitely painful one. He can’t separate his physical attraction to Dirk from his feelings for Dirk; the two are intrinsically connected. His feelings for Dirk are …

Todd slams the brakes on again, in a different way.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Dirk is looked a bit concerned that he’s broken Todd.

 _Good, you nearly did, you dick_ , Todd thinks, completely without venom and with a dangerous amount of affection.

“Just dizzy again,” Todd says aloud. Part of him wishes, slightly vengefully, that he could wind Dirk up in retaliation by describing his own bathing habits. Thing is, they’re not exactly anything to write home about; get in shower, clean self, try to look less awful. Dirk wouldn’t be flustered by them even if he wasn’t asexual. Dirk wouldn’t be interested in imagining Todd’s sad, pasty body. Dirk probably isn’t deeply interested in Todd at all, beyond someone to pass a bit of time flirting with on duty. Apparently asexual flirts exist, and Dirk is one of them, and there’s no point in Todd getting his hopes for anything more.

Dirk startles him by putting a hand to Todd’s forehead; it’s soft and warm – because of course it is. “Sir, you’re worrying me.”

_Oh, Dirk, touching me is not going to help me feel less dizzy._

Todd pulls back, because otherwise he’s very afraid he’s going to lean in. “I’m okay,” he says, trying to laugh it off.

Dirk isn’t convinced. His hands flutter at his sides. “You should know that nothing else could persuade me to say this, but please, _go home_. Eat something. Have some … tea, or something; take care of yourself.”

“Take care of myself.” Todd really does laugh at that. “Okay, sure. You want me to put on a face mask, too? With the little cucumber slices?”

Dirk’s mouth quirks in annoyance, “No, I want you to be kind to yourself. That’s not an extravagance.”

“I think your idea of being ‘kind to myself’ is,” Todd replies, though not harshly. “You’re way nicer than I deserve.”

“No, I’m not,” Dirk retorts, “you’re just mean to yourself.”

Todd laughs again, “I can’t afford to be kind.”

Dirk’s eyes flash. He draws in a sharp breath, raises a finger, and says cuttingly, “If you were my –” He falters. “If you were my best friend, and my shift was ending in less than the two hours it is, I would take you home right now and make you a cup of tea – or a hot chocolate, or just – whatever you fancy, I’d make it, and then I’d make soup, and I would force-feed you that soup until you passed into a bloody _food coma_ , and then I’d – I’d put you _right_ to bed and make sure you slept a _full eight hours_. Maybe nine. Or ten. All of them. All of the hours.”

He seems to lose steam after that, but Todd is already too affected to find a reply for a minute or two.

Eventually he manages to joke, weakly, “Can you even make soup?”

Dirk opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “No,” he admits testily, “but the thought counts.”

Todd bursts into laughter, more genuine this time, more light-hearted. It’s the kind of laughter he doesn’t let out often, especially not in public. It’s more of a cackle really, and he’s always felt a little self-conscious about it, and about how wide his mouth always goes when it breaks out of him. Dirk smiles, begrudgingly at first, but then he joins in, laughing just because Todd is laughing at almost nothing and that’s inherently funny. A couple who walks into the store takes one look at them, cackling in the corner, and walks straight out again.

Dirk tries to catch his breath, his cheeks shining; he says for the second time that day, “Stop! Stop, you’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Oh, shut up,” Todd shoots back, “as if you don’t live for it.”

“An unfortunate tendency of his, yes, but you rather seem to bring it out in him,” comments a voice on their left, and they both yelp.

Panto has somehow approached them without either of them noticing, and is now standing off to one side, his arms crossed.

“Dirk,” he says disapprovingly, “I thought we talked about this.”

Dirk moves his head the way he sometimes does; a sort of wiggle-shrug that Todd finds disgustingly cute. He’s trying to look charming – he’s hitting more towards total goofball. “Well, yes, but you love me, so I thought …”

“Dirk.”

“There’s no other customers today!”

“There have been several customers, all served by me,” Panto points out.

Todd glances between them, holding back a grin. “I should go.”

“No, sir,” Dirk whines and tries to catch at Todd’s hand as he moves away – he nearly succeeds.

“Dirk, run his purchase through, go back to work,” Panto says, clapping both hands on Dirk’s shoulder and steering him towards the counter, “or I’ll lock you out of my Netflix subscription.”

Dirk gasps at this, as if it’s a cruelty too great to bear. “You wouldn’t! There’s a new season of _Queer Eye_ , I haven’t finished it yet!”

“Run his purchase through, or I’ll run you through, you little sod.” Panto gives Dirk a push. “Always nice to see you, sir,” he says to Todd with his usual grace.

Dirk seems to take his sweet time wrapping up the green spinner for Todd. He weighs it twice, his tongue sticking out in concentration. Then he fumbles with the paper wrapping, nearly sticking his fingers together with tape.

“Sorry, sir, these ones really are the devil to wrap up.”

Todd chooses not to point out that for one thing Dirk has probably wrapped up at least four that week alone, and for another Dirk usually only ever uses the wrapping paper for soaps and melts. The bath bombs and bars go into the small paper bags, but they’re much easier to tape shut, so Todd doesn’t remind Dirk of this.

Todd has also been more occupied with other thoughts. This has been by the far the longest time he’s managed to spend in the store in one go. It’s first time he and Dirk have talked, really talked, about their lives outside of bath bombs and Amanda. And just like the moment when Todd realized that learning one thing about Dirk just meant immediately wanting to learn even more, now he’s realizing that even a full hour a week of Dirk’s company isn’t going to be enough either. He wants more; he wants it so desperately that he’s actually willing to risk asking for it.

And so for the five minutes that Dirk has been ‘struggling’ with the bath spinner, Todd has been struggling with constructing a way to finally, maybe, possibly … ask Dirk out. Just take the plunge. Probably show himself up fantastically and make Dirk feel awkward in the process. Unless there’s a magical way to ask him out the same way they talked about bath bombs and sexual orientation – relatively emotional-risk-free.

Todd has puzzled over it with full focus, (apart from the brief moment when Dirk’s tongue had made an appearance). As Dirk is finally beginning to wrap up both his performance with the spinner and the spinner itself, Todd leaps into action.

“So. Netflix,” he says, gracelessly. “You like … Netflix?”

“Oh, yes. Some of it. The shows, I mean. The company, I feel a little less fondly towards.” Dirk frowns to himself as he strings more unnecessary tape around the spinner. “They always cancel the best shows.”

“I …” Todd forces himself onwards, feeling like he’s shoving himself closer and closer to the wobbling edge of a very high, very scary diving board. “… I don’t actually know what _Queer Eye_ is, but if you ever – If Panto does actually lock you out, you – we could maybe –”

Dirk’s head snaps up. He looks stunned. “You don’t know what _Queer Eye_ is? Oh my god. No, no – no, you have to watch it.”

Todd feels what little confidence he had scrounged up wheeze out of him like a gasping balloon. “O-okay. But …”

“No, really.” Dirk is fixing him with one of his more intense looks, leaning both hands on the counter. “You need to watch it. Promise me you’ll give it a go.”

Todd raises his eyebrows, but he says, “Okay, sure. I promise.” He tries to make it sound as casual as possible, but it turns out that promising Dirk things provokes a little thrill in a corner of Todd’s heart.

_Stop that. Stop it. He’s not interested. Don’t be a creep, don’t badger him._

Dirk seems satisfied. He hands over the now-wrapped bath spinner. Todd notes with a glance that Amanda is going to need a pair of heavy scissors to free it from its bonds.

“Just watch it. You’ll – It’ll be a benefit to you. I hope.”

This is a very vague and slightly portentous endorsement, and in the midst of his slowly deflating hopes, Todd makes a disparaging noise. “Right. That’s not ominous at all.”

“No, no – it’s a lovely show, I promise,” Dirk says fervently. “It’s … sort of a makeover show, but it’s much more than that, it’s – Just watch it, okay?”

That does _not_ sound like the kind of show Todd would enjoy. He’s already cursing himself for making that promise, and for being so wound around Dirk’s little finger that he’s probably going to keep it.

Panto arrives then, just in time to come in on the tail-end of Dirk’s recommendation. “Oh, you got him talking about _Queer Eye_ , did you?”

He dumps a bowl of water in Dirk’s arms. It’s clearly fresh from being used in one of the in-store demonstrations; it nearly sloshes rose-pink suds all over Dirk’s front.

“Whoops,” says Panto congenially. To Todd he says, “I know it might sound a little strange, but it is worth watching. It used to be called _Queer Eye For The Straight Guy_ , but they remade it – new people, same formula. Dirk, how would you put it?”

“Four men and one non-binary person, all of whom are various shades of same-sex-attracted, make-over the lives of, mostly, straight men. Tenderness, and dare I say it, self-discovery ensues.” Dirk gives Todd a pointed look. “You should have been a client.”

Todd is slipping the bath spinner into his backpack, but he pauses to snort. “Right,” he says, swinging his bag over his shoulder as he turns to depart. “Do they do that for bi guys, though?”

He waves once to Dirk and Panto in goodbye, not really turning around. He’s too tired, and too run-down with his own resounding failure to look Dirk in the eye.

Just as he nears the door, he hears a loud crash, and the sound of water spilling, quickly followed by Dirk yelling, “Shit!”

He glances behind him to see that Dirk has somehow lost his grip on the bowl of water and is now running for a mop. Panto is laughing so hard that he’s leaning on the counter for support. He waves Todd away when he sees him lingering, as if to say ‘ _no, he’s fine, go on, he’s just ridiculous_.’ Todd couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Todd: You like jazz?_
> 
>  
> 
> Ace stuff!: This Dirk is obviously VERY flirty but he is still a-spec. As to where he falls on the ace spectrum, it's up to reader interpretation, (though from observed/personal experience I'd say he probably falls closer to the demi/grey and non-repulsed side of things)! But yeah! Ace flirts exist in different varieties and I've never fucking seen one depicted, so ... [slides you Outrageous Flirt Ace Dirk Gently on a purple and silver notepad].  
> Ace thing no. 2; Todd assumes here that the ONLY scenarios in which Dirk would have sex with him are 1) if they were in a long-term relationship, 2) casual sex that doesn't involve sexual attraction for Dirk and is only for the sake of his libido. That dichotomy isn't true, because there are honestly an infinite number of scenarios in which an a-spec person might decide to have sex. No matter what the five aphobes on Tumblr say, asexuality is about a lack of sexual _attraction_ , not about whether or not you "fuck." Todd, obviously, despite all the research he's been doing, doesn't have a fully accurate idea of the asexual experience of sex - and to be honest, that's because it's as complicated and varied as the allosexual experience of sex.
> 
> Nearly halfway through, lads (thought the word count does not reflect that lol)! Thanks to everyone who's been giving me reviews, reblogs, comments, tag comments etc. so far!
> 
> Chapters will be getting longer from here, substantially so with the next chapter, so if you have a tendency to hyperfocus on fic-reading like me with the "I'll just read one more chapter" thing, watch out for that. I'll be trying to include reminders at the start of each chapter that the length is going to be expanding like a pirate's telescope!
> 
> As always, if you're enjoying, don't forget to tip your writer with a comment/review! Also feel free to come message me on my Tumblr (linked below).


	6. Nights Keep Getting Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd goes home and takes a long, hard look in the mirror.

Later that evening, Todd trudges into his apartment feeling sore right to the center of his heart. He flicks the lights on and looks over his crappy ‘studio’ apartment; the accumulated, yet pitifully small, mess of his life. There are empty cartons of take-out miring in their oils on the kitchen benchtop; his microwave broke three weeks ago and he still hasn’t replaced it. His couch is so lumpy that the springs are outlined in places, and his walls are littered with scuff marks and old band stickers. What had he been thinking, nearly asking Dirk over – for fucking ‘Netflix and chill,’ of all things? What is there here that he wouldn’t be ashamed to let Dirk see?

Todd dumps his bag by the door and collapses onto his unmade bed with a groan. He stares up at the ceiling, grimacing at the smoke stains left there by previous tenants. Gross. Everything about this apartment is gross. The building itself hasn’t been refurbished since the late 70s, and everything about it is rickety and stained and rundown, from the flickering stairwell lights to the total lack of locks on the windows. One day someone is going to break in, Todd knows; just climb in through the window and, presumably, trash the place when they realize there’s barely anything worth stealing in here. Just records and a couple of amps and a guitar that’s seen better days.

Todd sits up. Where are his records, anyway? He can’t see them; they’re buried under the piles of unfolded laundry and general trash. He used to take such good care of his collection, CDs and vinyl’s alike; as a teen he’d even gotten hold of a turntable stand with a built-in shelf just to store them in pride of place. Now they’re somewhere under the muck, untouched. He couldn’t really be sure off the top of his head if he did have any Queen or Bowie, because he hasn’t pulled his collection out in years.

The realization at first sparks something deeply sad in him. There’s a sense of grief, of loss. For the first time he thinks his family aren’t the only ones he’s let down. He’s let down the fifteen-year-old boy who saved up for three months just to get Pink Floyd’s _Dark Side of the Moon_.

Todd pushes himself out of bed and starts searching. He digs though piles of dirty clothes; pushes aside broken sneakers he’s been telling himself he’d fix somehow and hasn’t been able to throw out. He roots through the sparse collection of books on his shelf, releasing avalanches of files – medical reports, old brain scans, doctor’s notes, denied welfare applications. Folders of nearly a decade’s worth of papers.

 _Fucking hell_.

He can’t find his records anywhere. In this tiny, shitty, shoebox apartment – which is really just one room with a kitchenette and cramped little bathroom tacked on like afterthoughts – he’s somehow generated so much debris that he can’t find something that used to be a key source of joy. How did he let it get like this? How did he let him _do_ this to himself?

Todd had always assumed that his apartment was shit simply because it was shit, but that isn’t completely true. It isn’t just the broken lights and the missing locks, it’s _him_. He let this mess pile up; the dishes and the laundry and … everything. This place is miserable. It smells not only unwashed, but stale – nothing has moved in here, nothing has lived in here. He can’t remember the last time he opened the windows. It’s dark even during the day, because he never bothers to draw the curtains before leaving for work, and he often arrives back so late that it’s already night. He can’t imagine Dirk here, in this sad, cold room. It’s more than just pathetic, it’s inescapably oppressive. It’s a cell.

Suddenly he feels filthy. The self-hatred and the guilt and the _misery_ in this room are as palpably physical stains on him as the sweat on his skin and smoke on his walls. He wants desperately to wash it all off. He wants to feel clean again.

He goes to the bathroom with the intent of standing under the shower until every last flaky dead skin cell has been sloughed off, but then he catches sight of himself in the mirror over the sink. It too, is so dirty that he can hardly believe he didn’t consciously notice it before. He can’t remember the last time he could see his face without flecks of toothpaste in the way.

So he grabs the raggedy hand-towel next to the sink, runs it under the tap, and wipes off the mirror. The towel is less than clean itself and probably was due to be changed a week or two ago. It leaves streaks and bits of cotton fiber across the surface of the mirror, but it gets the toothpaste gunk off, and a minute later Todd is looking at his reflection in fresh clarity. It’s as if he’s switched from standard definition to Blu-Ray, with all the unforgiving insight that that implies. No wonder Dirk worries about him – Todd looks terrible. He knew this already, of course, he had no delusions of grandeur about his appearance, but the reality staring out of the mirror at him is worse than he thought.

It’s not just the bags under his eyes, or the faint lines around his mouth, or the uneven shadow of his beard like creeping moss over an old stone. The man in the mirror has a formless, gaunt look about him, one that seems to come not so much from being underweight than simply being under-happy. He looks like a sad person, a frightened person – a bitter person.

Todd knew all these things about himself already, but seeing them reflected back to him in a mirror as impartially as if he were looking at a stranger on a street – that changes things. For the first time in years, recognizing these things in himself doesn’t inspire hatred, but pity. He feels sorry for the person he sees, and when he – the soul looking out from those wide, anxious eyes – fully clicks that the person he sees is him, another wave of grief rushes into his heart.

Todd realizes, with a far deeper sense of loss, that he cannot remember what he looked like before pararibulitis entered his life. He knows he wasn’t a sad child, or a frightened one, and he certainly wasn’t a bitter one. He knows he didn’t have those bags under his eyes as a teenager, and that even in the most reckless years of his vastly misspent youth he didn’t look so lost. At some point between now and the moment, over six years ago, when his dad called to tell him why Amanda was in hospital, the waves began to work. They washed out his skin and his eyes. They polished him smooth and faceless like a stone tossed over and over.

Todd tries to remember his past selves, and realizes he can’t even call up adjectives with which to describe them. He can’t remember what he was like before all this happened, only that he liked music, he thought his band was going to hit it big, and he was a total asshole. Any other details – and he knows that there were, once, other aspects of his identity, good, bad, and in-between – have been forcibly erased along with his asshole-past-self. He’s actually spent the better part of decade working so hard to forget the mistakes of his early twenties that anything his mind recognized as ‘Todd’ it also recognized as ‘bad.’ It was all thrown out together.

Todd has always thought of the guilt as an unstoppable force, something which happens _to_ him, but he’s been actively encouraging it all along. There was nothing he wanted more than to erase his past, even if it came at the cost of erasing his future too – because, after all, what future was there to be had for someone as shitty as him?

Todd is thirty-four. He’s a bellboy, he lives in Seattle, a terrible chronic illness runs in his family, the most important thing in his life is looking after his sister, he’s an asshole, and … And nothing else. Todd knows nothing else about himself. He doesn’t examine himself, because examining himself is painful, and so he has shied away from even looking at himself to the point where he no longer knows who he is. He’s been stuck in the same nowhere-nobody space for years, and now he’s drifting towards a new year that shows no signs of anything actually new. The claustrophobia, the hopelessness of that – it’s suffocating. Perhaps he _is_ no one, and he’s only going to continue being no one.

Todd wonders, with a rush of sickly fear, who Amanda sees when she looks at him. Is it this man in the mirror she sees, the man who is now crying, the man who is so transparently empty and alone? If Todd doesn’t know himself, then how can his sister know who he is?

And what about Dirk? What does Dirk see when he looks at Todd?

The panic those thoughts invoke crawls up his throat, and it feels as if a creature with clawed fingers is scratching at his insides – it cuts so sharply that Todd’s hands fly to his neck and chest. He hunches over the sink, trying to breathe, trying to think clearly. The claws dig in deeper. The pain clouds him, his struggles to draw in a breath of air that stings his lungs as if they’ve been slashed by knives – and as he tries to breathe, leaning heavily on the sink, all the grief he feels – for the parents he lied to, for the sister he let down, for the boy he used to be who never planned to be an awful person when he grew up – it compounds and warps into something else.

Frustration.

Todd has been furious with himself before. He has regretted his actions before – god, of course he has. And he’s been frustrated with himself before, but not like this. This frustration blocks out everything else, the cutting sensation in his chest and the self-hatred and the guilt; it’s louder, fiercer, and more stubborn than all of it. It is _tired_. It is tired to the bone – and not in the sense of being physically or emotionally tired, but tired in the way that a man who has fallen numerous times down the same flight of stairs is tired of falling down flights of stairs.

Todd wipes away his tears. He looks around the squalid, dirty little bathroom. There’s something he can remember about this – that when he originally looked at the apartment, his first thought had been that it was actually a pretty nice bathroom for a studio apartment. It’s a slightly hazy memory, but he can remember looking with pleasant surprise at the small bathtub shower and admiring the color of the tiles. He can’t tell what color the tiles are now. The frustration surges.

 _Screw this_ , he thinks. _Screw_ – _this_.

He wants to see what color the tiles are.

Todd storms out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, throws open the cabinet under the sink, and pulls out every dusty brush and sponge, every half-empty bottle of cleaning fluid he owns. He returns to the bathroom, spares a minute to prop open the door and window, and then he gets to work.

He starts by pouring bleach over the tub and sink and leaving it to sit. The shower curtain, he tries to wash for all of five minutes before accepting that it’s too ancient, discolored, and frankly revolting to save – he tears it down and promptly gets tangled in it for another five minutes. Once he manages to release himself from its clutches and kick it out the door of the bathroom, he’s breathing pretty heavily, and his adrenalin is up. He funnels the anger into ridding the floor tiles of scum.

Todd is about twenty minutes into scrubbing when he realizes that he’s not frustrated any more. He’s still going though, and the floor is getting cleaner, and the color is getting clearer. The rhythms of the scrubbing – up, down, honing in on stubborn bits of grit, rinsing off the scrub-brush occasionally in a bucket of hot water and eucalyptus oils – it all slowly falls into a pattern of movement that’s somehow clarifying and calming. His mind begins to wander, and for once he allows it to.

He thinks of how the floor will look when it’s clean. He thinks of not feeling slightly grossed out every time he has to use his own toilet. He thinks of shaving in the mornings in a mirror that actually functions, in the light coming from a window that isn’t clogged up with grime. He imagines sending a Snapchat of it to Amanda. He imagines that, maybe, she’ll send it to Mom, and Mom might be just a little bit proud of him.

He even allows himself to picture, just for a brief moment, the mental image of Dirk standing at Todd’s bathroom sink in soft pajamas, brushing his teeth before bed. It feels almost scandalously intimate, and Todd has to pull back when his heart starts aching, but for once it’s a nice sort of ache.

Todd’s thoughts wander further away into less significant arenas, into memories of helping his father wipe down the kitchen table every night before dinner, wonderings about what trashy reality tv show might be his mom’s current favorite, vague ideas of calling her tomorrow to ask, half-remembered things he has to do but is in no rush to complete, snatches of songs that float absently through his brain. It’s been a long, long time since he’s been so alone with himself, and not been terrified.

He realizes he’s singing quietly under his breath just as he’s finishing up where he started, properly wiping down the mirror. “Time.” Pink Floyd, _Dark Side Of The Moon_.

And the bathroom … the bathroom is spotless. The bleach has stripped away the mold and staining on the sink and shower-tub, and after a wash-away and wipe-down both are gleaming white. The toilet looks as if it’s been newly installed. There’s no shower curtain, but he can buy one tomorrow, and it’s not as if he lives with anyone who’s going to walk in on him anyway. The taps are shining. The rippled glass window on the door is no longer yellowed and scummy with evaporation, and the door itself has also been wiped down and cleaned of flecks of _god-knows_ and _don’t-ask_ , as have the walls. The window that opens enough to let in air is coaxing a fresh night breeze into the apartment, one which would usually be freezing but has kept Todd cool while he cleans, and kept the small room free of chemical stink. Now the room only smells of the clean scent of eucalyptus oil, mingling with the night air.

The bathroom tiles, it turns out, are a really nice shade of blue – surprisingly deep in color and possessed of an unusual amount of personality for an apartment bathroom. It _is_ a nice bathroom, Todd thinks anew. It’s small, and cramped, but it has everything he needs. He’s been calling it ugly for years now, when in reality it was simply neglected. Perhaps it’s a weird thought to have, and it feels like a very ‘Dirk’ thought too, but Todd feels a bit guilty for treating this bathroom so badly. It’s not a huge, overwhelming wave of guilt. Just a small, quiet moment of regret, the gentle realization that things did not have to be this way. But looking in the mirror now, free of specks, streaks, and bits of fluff, Todd wonders if he’s ever seen himself so clearly.

He’s tired now – but only tired in the conventional sense. And he feels … good. Surprisingly good. His muscles ache and his hands feel scrubbed raw, and he’s even filthier than he was before, but it feels _good_. He can’t remember the last time he felt good without it being directly connected to Amanda or Dirk.  He’s definitely earned a shower.

Todd is halfway through turning on the shower taps when he glances down at the newly cleaned, sparkling tub.

_Why the fuck not._

He turns off the shower, and turns on the lower bath taps instead. Once he has the right temperature going, he leaves it to fill up and begins to tidy away the debris of cleaning. Once the empty bottles and used paper towels are thrown out, Todd searches under his bed for the empty ice cream carton in which he’s been keeping all the broken bath bombs that Dirk has smuggled him. In the kitchen he grabs a clean bowl, an ancient one with a pseudo-Indian pattern painted on it in Art class by fourteen-year-old Amanda. It has a few chips on it, but it’s still Todd’s favorite bowl. He carefully empties the bagged bath bombs into the bowl and sorts through them until he finds the first one Dirk ever gave him, the yellow one that smells like buttercups.

It’s only once the bath is full, the taps turned off, and a fresh towel hung up that Todd loses his momentum. He eyes the bath, feeling unaccountably nervous. The last time he regularly took baths was as a child, and it’s a difficult association to break. He’s also finding himself unsure as to … what exactly he’s supposed to _do_ in the bath, besides sit in it. As a kid he’d play with toys, but somehow Todd thinks that even if he could get ahold of a plastic whale or a miniature boat the experience wouldn’t hold the same kind of enjoyment for him as an adult.

He’s probably meant to … read and drink wine, or something, right? That’s a … thing, isn’t it? That’s how people … relax?

Reading and drinking wine has never really been high on the list of Todd’s pastimes. Neither has bathing, really. He has a vague idea that candles are meant to be involved somehow, but …

He looks down at the bath bomb in his hand. What would Dirk do?

Todd knows what Dirk would do before he even has a moment to consciously think it through. Jesus. Okay.

_I guess this might as well happen._

It takes him a few minutes to haul a chair into the room, and then his laptop. The latter always takes about fifteen minutes to wake itself up, so while the crotchety old thing takes its time Todd strips off his dirty clothes and stands, awkwardly shivering, in front of the steaming bath. He’s definitely beginning to feel stupid now, but at least there’s no one around to see him being stupid, and he’s come this far. He drops the handful of bath bomb shards into the water with what is, admittedly, a very satisfying splash.

By now, Todd has seen enough clips of bath bombs fizzing to not be overawed by the process, but there’s something hypnotizing about the way that the bomb pieces spin in the water like yellow flowers blooming. The actual flowers embedded in the bomb are released into dizzying whirls around the bath, and the yellow slowly blossoms beneath the surface. It occurs to Todd that yellow is a slightly unfortunate color to bathe in, perhaps, but the smell makes up for it – sweet and slightly tangy. It’s a happy smell, strong enough to cover what little hints of cleaning fluid smell do linger in the bathroom, gentle enough to not be completely overwhelming.

Todd climbs into the bath and –

 _Fuck, that’s hot_. _That’s really hot – way too hot, shit – ow, fuck – oh, no, wait._

_It’s fine._

The burning slowly turns pleasantly warm, if slightly tingly. Still, Todd lowers himself into the water very slowly, with all the constipated grace of an ancient sea turtle coming to rest on the beach shore. Once he’s sitting mostly comfortably, he then has to wrangle a way pull the chair where his laptop sits close enough to reach the keyboard. And once he manages _that_ , he has to convince his laptop to open up a browser window, then Netflix, then – finally – _Queer Eye_.

There’s … so many fucking episodes to choose from. All look equally likely to be the exact brand of cheesy, sassy daytime television which Todd’s mom loves and Todd himself has spent his entire life mystified by. Unsure where to start, Todd heads to the most recent season, the one Dirk said he was watching. He hits play on the first episode – because that, at least, he knows Dirk has seen, which means if nothing else it will be something he can talk to Dirk about.

The episode opens with what appears to be a group of five very gay people in a car. They banter back and forth for a few minutes, something about gay this and slay that, and something about their upcoming client being a cop in training. Todd is finding it … difficult to follow, not so much because it’s snappy and fast-paced (though it is), but more because, well … none of this has ever been a culture he’s identified with. The few other LGBT+ people he’s known were or are all into punk-prog-rock subcultures, and Todd has always struggled a little in the presence of extroverts in general. He knows Dirk had said one of the hosts was non-binary, which Todd knows a tiny bit more about, but Todd can’t work out which one, and that’s making him feel guilty again on top of everything else. By the time the title sequence kicks off and all five hosts are strutting around in tasteful black and white to an upbeat pop song, Todd is feeling so lost and alienated that his shoulders are tightly hunched together.

Why did Dirk ever think it was so imperative that Todd watch this show? Why did Todd _listen_ to him? Why is he sitting in the bathtub at 9pm on a Wednesday night watching a makeover show? He’s thirty-four, for fuck’s sake.

“Honey, you’re never too old for a lil’ bit o’ silly,” says one of the hosts onscreen, in a deliberately silly voice.

Todd starts a little, because for a very surreal moment he thinks that the speaker is directly addressing him – then he realizes that, no, of course, they’re talking to someone onscreen.

At this point in the show the ‘Fab Five’ seem to have invaded the home of a very confused woman who looks like she’s just trying to do her best in the strange situation she’s found herself in. Todd had tuned out during her introduction, but she’s apparently the client of the episode; a small woman in worn-out and faded exercise clothes who hovers at the edge of her own bedroom while five queer people merrily run riot through various parts of her house. Todd feels more than a twinge of second-hand embarrassment for her. Especially when one of the hosts in her bedroom begins to rummage through her closet, and the camera zooms mercilessly into her face, which has absolutely frozen up with horror.

Todd is reminded why he’s never really enjoyed reality TV.

Another host joins in the rummaging and starts to go through a collection of shoeboxes underneath the client’s bed – at which point the client makes a strangled noise and rushes forward to stop him.

“Please – don’t, I-I keep those in a – in a _very specific_ order, and …”

The second host, who has shoulder-length brown hair and a truly magnificent handlebar moustache, looks genuinely taken aback by the client’s fear. The camera cuts away to the kitchen, where another host is digging through the fridge, occasionally sniffing things they clearly regret sniffing immediately afterwards. When the camera cuts back to the bedroom, time seems to have passed – the host with long hair has moved to the other side of the room, and the boxes have disappeared.

The client is now sitting on the edge of the bed. Todd notices that she has a handful of tissues scrunched in one hand. A different host in an extravagantly tasteful bomber jacket is sitting next to her, talking to her with quiet, gentle sincerity.

“Can I ask you, what do you do when you get home? Do you have something you do to wind down?”

The woman titters nervously. It’s a sound which, like everything else about her, is tense, small, and very tightly-wound.

“I don’t,” she admits. “My roommate tries to get me to, sometimes. I think I’m just not that kind of person … I’m just –”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you there,” says Bomber-Jacket softly. “You might not be that person now, but you can be. It’s important to make time to look after yourself.”

“We all need to have moments, okay!” says the host with the long hair. “We need to make time for our little moments!”

“But with my study, and the application – and my dad and my brother …”

“Those are exactly the things that make looking after yourself even more important,” Bomber-Jacket replies. “You want a career, you want a good relationship with your family, you want to be there for the people you love. That’s all wonderful but you can’t do that without _you_. _You’re_ the starting point. You have to be.”

The woman looks like she’s about to protest, but Bomber-Jacket puts one hand over hers gently but firmly.

“I’ve talked to you for five minutes and I can already tell you’re very independent. You _can_ look after yourself. You just haven’t been taught how treat yourself kindly too. But that’s okay, because that’s what we’re here to help you with.”

The episode moves on, and slowly Todd stops getting the urge to watch with his hands half-covering his eyes. Slowly, he’s drawn in as the Fab Five unpack how they’re going to ‘glow-up’ every aspect of their client’s life, from redoing the drab and utilitarian fittings of her house and wardrobe to teaching her how to cook. Everything is leading up to the end of the coming week, when their client is going to find out if she got accepted into the force.

It becomes clear that every member of the group has a field in which they specialize. Todd reaffirms this when the non-binary and pronouns questions become too much, and he pauses the episode to do a quick Google. It’s difficult to enjoy himself when he feels like he’s deliberately misgendering all of them.

It turns out that the non-binary one is Jonathan, the one with long hair, who is irrepressibly camp and reminds Todd a little of someone. He specializes in grooming. Antoni, who had been rooting through the fridge, handles cooking. Tan covers clothes, and Bobby home design, and Karamo – the one in the bomber jacket – specializes in an area the onscreen captions call ‘culture’ but which looks a lot more like expertly handled crash-course counselling.

The show is perky, and liberally peppered with hot tips, funny talking head spots, and heartfelt moments. The first truly cutting example of the latter comes when the client admits to Karamo, during a car ride, that she’s been having PTSD issues for the past four months, ever since she ‘failed’ to stop a close family friend from getting kidnapped.

It’s the kind of drama that Todd, four months ago himself, probably would have been too skeptical to find at all credible. But right now, he can only watch as the woman begins to break, the steel-bright façade she had been maintaining for fifteen minutes of the episode crumbling and cracking. Karamo listens as he drives, his face solemn, and in that way, soothing.

Karamo, it’s apparent, is in general the most soothing presence of the group, but the others prove themselves to be less abrasive than they originally appeared. As the client – who, Todd finally catches, is called Farah – digs in the garden with Bobby, the pair talk about Farah’s strained relationship with her father and Bobby’s experiences of being disowned as a teenager. Bobby also goes over storage options in the prospective house makeover with her.

“I usually never do this,” he tells her, “but I know it’s important that you feel in control.” Farah winces at that, clearly self-conscious, and Bobby gracefully backpedals enough to clarify, “No, no – that’s okay. It’s okay to need that. We all need to feel our space is – is our space, you know. And I wanted you to feel like you had some input. Now. Are we thinking drawers or shelves here?”

Tan takes Farah clothes shopping and persuades her out of her old gym clothes and into sharply angled leather jackets and tight-fitting jeans. Todd thinks ‘ _holy shit, her legs_ ,’ about ten seconds before Tan says that out loud.

“You’ve been hiding your body. And I get the feeling it’s not because you hate it, it’s just because it’s another way of hiding yourself – and look at you! You’re gorgeous! I want you to see how sad it is that you’re hiding it.”

Tan gets her into better-fitting exercise clothes too, because, “Admittedly, okay, you look just as incredible in them, and it’s a practicality thing. I just don’t want to see you in _just_ sweatpants and sports bras. And I know you said you feel self-conscious about your height, and you’re going into the force, so I’ve picked out some comfortable heels for you – because I want you to see clothes as a way of showing yourself to the world and a way of figuring out who you are. You _are_ strong, you _are_ powerful. And you can rock a pair of heeled boots.”

Antoni, on the other hand, confesses himself already fairly impressed with Farah’s cooking skills, especially after Farah starts listing off the amount of baking recipes she knows by heart.

“How do you – what?! How do you know all these?! That’s so many.”

“I …” Farah looks shyly proud of herself for the first time. “It’s not that many.”

“You just listed like fifty recipes and it’s not that many?”

“It’s just like, pies and things … a few pastries. I do know how to make this cheesecake with a white chocolate dome shell …”

“Okay, no, you’re just upsetting me now,” Antoni says, though he’s smiling as he throws a clean dishcloth over his shoulder. “You’re a baking goddess, you’re gonna make me look bad.”

He focuses instead on expanding her ‘repertoire’ in the arena of dinner food, and goes through methods of meal-prepping with her to prepare her for working fulltime. Together they make an oven baked casserole, and as they chop vegetables at the counter Antoni asks her again.

“So the baking, is it like a special interest thing, or …?”

Farah pauses halfway through cutting up a carrot, her expression ruminative. By this point in the show she seems to have relaxed, but it’s obvious that she isn’t by nature accustomed to being freely open about her emotions. Eventually, she says, “It’s … it’s more like, a calming thing? My mom and I used to bake together on Sundays when I got good grades.”

“Oh, so it’s like something that reminds you of her – that’s really sweet.”

“Yeah. Most of the recipes are hers, I just altered them a little here and there. She really loved rhubarb.”

Antoni glances at her, and smiles when he sees the soft happiness in her face.

The camera cuts away to a talking-head shot of Antoni. “Having rituals around cooking with your family – that’s one of the things that for me brings the most joy to food. And I think it takes a kind of bravery to keep up with those rituals even if the people you originally did them with are gone, because it can be hard. But it really is way to keep them close to you.”

Todd is reminded of Christmas just a few years ago. It was the first one he’d had back at his childhood home in Oregon for years. The drive had been … punishing, but it was worth it for the moment when he had joined the table with Amanda and his parents. Instead of the usual turkey fair, they’d had pasta, home-made – a Brotzman family special.

Todd smiles faintly and leans back in the bath at the memory, still warm in his mind in spite of everything.

Onscreen, Farah is now sitting in a salon chair as Jonathan wrestles her abundant cloud of black hair free from the five or six hair ties that have been keeping it scraped back against her head.

“Oh my _god_ , yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Jonathan chants as he teases her hair out, “this is – _oh my god_. Okay, so I couldn’t really see it when you had it in its little knot but I had my suspicions and oh my sweet darlin’ this is everything I dreamed of and more.”

“God, no,” Farah groans through a laugh, “I wanted you to say you were going to shave it all off.”

In the salon mirror, Jonathan shoots Farah a look suggesting she’s criminally insane. “I mean, if you really want it gone, it’s your hair, but like … I do feel like you just told me to put the Mona Lisa in a file shredder. So.”

Farah winces, “But it’s just …”

“Is it – Are we talking for practicality here, or just getting ready fast in the mornings? Because I can help you with all that. If it’s that you want something androgynous, or you just want to play around we can do that too, because let’s be totally honest with ourselves you have the face of Aphrodite and you can do anything you want with your hair and make it look _uh_ -mazing – but …” Jonathan tilts his head. “Like, I feel, for _you_ , that’s actually playing it safe.”

“It’s – Okay, it is a practicality thing.”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“I just – there’s so much of it, and I haven’t really known what to do with it since …” Farah trails off.

Jonathan notices. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “You can totally correct me if I’m wrong … But I just get this feeling that maybe you’re in a bit of like, a hair rut. I don’t feel like the solution is just cropping it all short, because that’s just avoidance. I think maybe like, learning to embrace it, and play with it … It’s just so full of potential, you know? It’s okay to have it out of the way when you do your job, but also your job can’t be your _whole life 24 hours a day_ ,  _7 days a week_. There have to be ways of separating it, especially when you’re gonna work as a police officer – like, that’s a lot. And your hair really is just the definition of ‘hashtag blessed’ so … you know, appreciate your gifts. Celebrate them, celebrate yourself. Ain’t nothing selfish about that.”

For the entirety of the episode thus far, Todd has had the most reservations about Jonathan because he’s seemed like exactly the kind of reality TV star that Todd has always been immensely put off by – loud, brassy, pushy. But now he’s serious, sincere – still a bit goofy, but it’s suddenly very obvious that he’s smart. And he seems to actually know his stuff about Black hair – though admittedly Todd isn’t the best judge of that.

Jonathan gives Farah’s hair a cursory trim, but she agrees to let it stay relatively long, and he’s clearly delighted. He shows her three different ways to style it in under ten minutes, braiding it into complicated-looking-but-deceptively-easy twists, tucking it around itself, weaving it to one side or another. By the end of the session he leaves it tucked in a low, neat bun which keeps it out of the way, but is far less harsh than Farah’s earlier attempt.

Farah is … really pretty. That much was already obvious from the start of the episode, but Todd finds it impossible not to be impressed by just how much she begins to show it towards the end. It’s not the way the Fab Five re-do her hair, or her wardrobe – it’s the way they bring her out of her shell. She begins to shine from the inside out, stops crossing her arms over her chest and stands up straighter. She looks taller, and not just because of the heels that Tan puts her in. And Todd, although he has never met her, is beginning to feel … weirdly, incredibly proud of her.

All of it comes to a head when she meets up with Karamo again. This time they go to a local library where a class is being given on bullet journaling, which, Todd learns over the next ten minutes, is some kind note-taking/journaling/diary-keeping practice which sounds both very simple and dauntingly convoluted.

“Now I know you’ve been really overwhelmed lately, with training for the force, and with your health problems, so I wanted you to have a way of breaking things down without them getting overwhelming.” Karamo shows Farah a blank journal dotted faintly in a grid formation. “Bullet journaling is perfect for that. This whole system is designed is to help you break down what you need to do month by month, then week by week, then day by day. That way you know where everything is, you stay conscious of everything that’s happening, but it’s not all there in your face all at once every single day. You take things step by step, you just worry about what you need to do that day.”

“Anxieties about the future, trauma about the past – it’s easy to get obsessive about that,” Karamo explains in a talking head shot. “Which is why it’s so important to find ways to focus on the present. I’m hoping as well that this is going to help Farah find new routines, because I know that she really thrives on them – but to also know her schedule enough for her to not be terrified if she needs to change something about it.”

Farah and Karamo go through the lesson with a handful of other students, all of whom are women in their twenties and thirties. Some of them look so neat and organized that Todd finds them almost physically painful to look at.

Karamo continues in a voice-over as the class begins, “I’m hoping that these new routines will also help her make time for herself. I really want her to see that that is _so_ vital, especially when she’s at this major shifting point in her life. We’re often told that making time for yourself is a luxury, something that we should be ashamed for needing at all – but that’s just not true. One of the most selfless things you can do is learn to look after yourself.

“When you make time for yourself, you’re making time to _know_ yourself – to be at home with yourself. And that means understanding the things about yourself that maybe are damaging, maybe hurtful, maybe need to be fixed – but also the things about yourself that are rare and beautiful, and precious. And if you can understand that, it really is the first step to becoming the best version of yourself. You’re always gonna be a work in progress, and that’s okay. But being the best work in progress you can be really is the greatest gift you can give to the people around you.”

Karamo seems to come out with this sort of spiel a lot, and so far Todd is struggling to understand it. The way that Karamo looks into the camera as if he’s staring right into Todd’s scratched up, bitter little soul doesn’t help either. Farah, for her part, looks like she’s going to clip right out of the screen in terror when Karamo holds her back after the class is finished and asks her to do some extra exercises ‘about forgiveness.’

“You have all this guilt inside you, and it’s holding you back,” he says, and Todd feels his own chest clench up. “I’m going to help you process it.”

Farah looks like she wants to bolt straight out of the library then and there. Todd wants to slam the laptop shut and stick his head under the water until he forgets what he was watching in the first place.

“We’re going to start off like this. What is something you feel you can never forgive yourself for?”

A nauseous, panicky feeling surges like a tide over Todd’s heart.

Farah, too, has frozen. All the confidence she has slowly scraped together is beginning to come undone onscreen.

She forces a name out, “Lydia.”

“What happened to Lydia?”

“She … she was kidnapped.”

“And she escaped a week later, didn’t she? With your help?”

Farah is going to cry. Todd can tell as if he can feel it in the back of his own throat.

“She did. I should have –” Farah swallows. “I should have gotten to her sooner, though. I made … stupid mistakes. I was – I was reckless, stupid, careless, I –”

Karamo speaks over her, “Does Lydia think that?”

“… No.”

“Has Lydia forgiven you?”

Farah pauses even longer before replying, thickly, “Yes.”

“Then why can’t you forgive yourself?”

The panic is too much – the horrible, stricken expression on Farah’s face is too much; Todd can’t – he _can’t_ keep watching this woman be unraveled on television. He reaches towards the laptop to turn off the show.

“Don’t let this drown you.”

Todd stops.

“Don’t let it overwhelm you,” Karamo says to Farah. He has one hand steadying her at her back, and the other holding the empty journal open in front of her. “It isn’t easy. Confronting your guilt is hard, but it’s the first step to processing it.

“You say you haven’t been able to look yourself in the eye since what happened. But you _deserve_ to be able to look yourself in the eye. You deserve to know what it’s like to love the person you are and be proud of her again. And if you can do that, you can be the person who has a great job, who does great work, who looks after her brother, who looks after her friends. But until you can depend on yourself, no one else really can either.”

Farah opens her mouth, closes it again. She can’t seem to find any words, and her face is wet with tears. Karamo pushes the book towards her.

“You don’t have to talk to me about it. But you can talk to yourself. There’s a lot in your head right now, I know. So break it down. Write it down. Then let it go.”

With a shaking hand, Farah picks up the pen.

The rest of the episode passes in a blur. Farah gets to see her made-over house, which is now full of tastefully modern fittings and furnishings, as well as a brand-new boxing set in the garage. She and Tan show the other members of the Fab Five a handful of the outfits he’s picked out for her, and Jonathan talks her through a new skincare routine. Soon the Fab Five are bidding her an emotional and tearful goodbye, piling on the hugs and the wishes of encouragement.

Then, some unclear amount of time later, they watch a recording of her long-awaited Friday night dinner party – which is not so much a party, per se, because Farah seems like the kind of person who is filled with existential dread at even the word ‘party.’ She’s invited over two friends though, both of whom are already on the force; one being the friend who nominated her, and the other being her housemate who has thus far been absent from the show.

Karamo, Antoni, Bobby, Tan, Jonathan, and Todd all watch with bated breath as Farah starts the evening off in her newly done-up bedroom, which is now various calming shades of deep blue. She considers a handful of outfits, and tries two on before throwing them both back in the closet.

“No. Be brave. Be bold,” she tells herself.

She grabs a silver dress instead, and Tan – watching from the Fab Five loft, actually shrieks and grabs Jonathan, who is sitting next to him.

“Oh my _god_ , yes!”

“Did you tell her to pick that?”

“I put it in there but I didn’t – I didn’t even make her try it on, I didn’t want to stress her out … I never thought she would jump straight into that …”

“Oh my god! Baby girl! I’m so proud of her!”

When Farah re-emerges from her bedroom in the dress, even Todd is able to recognize that Tan’s eye for fashion is incredible. The dress is understated, with a high neckline that sweeps wide across Farah’s shoulders, but the fabric is slightly silky and it shimmers against her dark skin. The sleeves are capped and show off her finely-toned arms, and the skirt flows loosely down to just above her knees. She has successfully swept her hair up into a half-braid, with part of one side left to freely fan out and frame her cheekbones. She looks beautiful.

The Fab Five vehemently agree, if the noises they’re making are anything to go by. Karamo and Bobby are both staring gormlessly at their screen as if deliberately mirroring Todd’s current real-life expression. Antoni’s eyes are the size of dinner plates. Jonathan, meanwhile, is screeching one long, drawn-out “ _HO-NEY_!”

Tan puts up a hand, and says in a choked voice, “Nobody look at me. No one is allowed to look at me.”

“Aww, Tanny, you killed it!”

“Are you crying?”

“Do _not_ look at me!”

Farah is now rushing around her kitchen in bare feet, muttering to herself as she pulls pre-chopped vegetables out of the fridge.

“Okay, wait, is she wearing shoes?”

“She’s not wearing shoes.”

“She has to put her – FARAH, YOUR SHOES!”

“No, no, no, I think it’s just because she’s cooking …”

“I don’t care, I can’t handle this kind of tension, I need to know what shoes she’s going to choose.”

“Tanny, she is _doing_ her _best_!”

Once the casserole is safely in the oven, Farah does indeed return to her bedroom and pull out the shoe drawer that Bobby had installed in her wardrobe. For a few moments there’s nearly a dogfight when her hand hovers over an old pair of scruffy flats, but at the last minute Farah redeems herself by pulling out a pair of low, emerald green heels.

“Oh my god, I actually nearly killed her. I think I – I nearly just astral projected into her room and murdered her.”

Bobby reaches across Jonathan to take Tan’s hand. “It’s okay. We’re safe now.”

The doorbell goes and Farah makes a little squeaking noise midway through setting the table.

“No, no, no – don’t spin out, you can do this,” murmurs Karamo.

It’s as if she can hear him. She steadies herself, draws in a breath of air. She answers the door – and flinches back immediately when the person on the other side drops a wine bottle on her doorstep.

“Tina!”

There’s a stream of bleeped out swearwords as the woman who dropped the bottle tries to get past Farah and into the house.

“My bad, my bad, that is _my_ bad – I’m gonna get the … Holy –” Another long beep. “The house! Are you serious?! This is so totally crazy!”

The woman stumbles around the living room, looking awed. She’s around Farah’s age, with messy hair about three different shades of blonde, and wearing a golden sequined dress that reminds Todd of something out of _The Great Gatsby_ , as well as a collection of rainbow bangles that audibly clink and clatter as she waves her arms.

The Fab Five lean forward in unison.

“Ooh, is this the roommate? Tina, right?”

“Okay, _love_ the bracelets.”

Another arrival at the door draws Farah’s attention away from her roommate.

“Sherlock!”

The man at the door is much older than Farah and Tina, but he has a lot of amiable Dad Energy; he’s wearing a slightly worn blue blazer and crisp shirt.

“Did she say Sherlock?”

“Oh my god, he’s a cop and he’s called Sherlock. That’s like, the most extra thing – I can’t even handle it.”

Sherlock takes Farah in with obvious pride, pulling her into a warm hug.

“Hey, Farah – goodness, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Thank you; careful with the glass, Tina got over-excited when she saw the house.”

In the loft, Jonathan snorts, “Honey, I don’t think it was the house that got her over-excited. No offence, Bobby.”

“None taken.”

“Dropping a bottle of champagne though! First of all, _relatable_ , second of all – Tan, I think you’ve peaked. Like, can it get any better than your client’s roommate nearly passing out?”

It becomes apparent during the dinner that follows that Farah’s roommate is more than a little enamored with Farah’s outfit, or possibly just Farah herself. After the third shot of Tina leaning her cheek on one hand and staring at Farah over her wine glass with a slightly dazed look, Jonathan seems unable to contain his opinions on the matter any longer.

“Okay, is anyone else getting this energy, or am I just completely insane?”

“No, there’s definitely something going on.”

“Karamo, did she say anything –”

Karamo shushes Jonathan with one finger on his mouth. “Ah-ah-ah. Just let it happen. Remember what I said about shipping the clients.”

“All I’m saying is, the gold and the silver thing – like, very adorbs, very accidental connection, they are _giving_ me sun and moon vibes and I am here for it.”

Farah and her friends continue their meal, and the Fab Five coo, aww, and make witty camp commentary at all the right moments – and then break into whooping and cheering when Sherlock announces that Farah has been officially accepted into the police force. Sherlock has to comfort Farah immediately after, because she bursts into tears, but it’s clear that they’re very happy tears.

It makes good television, but it’s also obvious that the Fab Five genuinely care about Farah – or else are so good at pretending to genuinely care that they succeed at the job of looking after her anyway. By the end of the scene Antoni is also in tears, and the other four don’t look far behind. The episodes closes with a shot of Farah and Tina sitting side by side on their new couch, talking quietly as the camera pans away.

As the credits roll Todd comes back into his body with a sort of stunned rush. The bath has gone pretty cold, and he hasn’t actually done anything but just sit there for an hour – and somehow it’s difficult to believe that it’s only been an hour. He closes the lid of the laptop before the autoplay can go to the next episode, but as he begins to go through the motions of washing under his arms and shampooing his hair, his mind is still on the show.

Todd’s surprised, genuinely surprised, not only by how much he enjoyed it but how drawn into it he was. He’s never come away from a reality TV show feeling like it’s actually delivered something of value to him, and he’s never actually enjoyed one in deeper terms than outrageously mocking it with Amanda. But it didn’t feel like reality TV, or at least not the kind of reality TV that Todd grew up with. It doesn’t feel like a makeover show either, because what he just saw was a complete overhaul, in the gentlest, most sincere and playful way.

And yet he knows, _he knows_ , that four months ago he probably wouldn’t have watched past the opening, if he’d somehow chanced upon it in the first place – because he certainly wouldn’t have sought it out. He’s changed though. Something has changed. He’s not sure he can put his finger on what, exactly, but he knows when he can trace the change back to.

He remembers what Dirk said about _Queer Eye_.

_“You should have been a client.”_

Todd has changed, that’s for sure – and if he squints, he’s fairly sure it’s for the better, which in itself seems an alien concept. In comparison to Farah’s transformation though, he has a laughably long way to go. What, he wonders, would the Fab Five change about him?

As he drains the tub and towels off, Todd looks around the bathroom once more and is freshly impressed by how really, actually nice it is. He feels another tiny, almost shy twinge of pride in himself for cleaning it all in one go – and, though hesitant, for a moment he allows himself to feel that pride.

Then he steps outside the bathroom, and the smells and sights of the dimly lit, wretched space beyond hit him squarely in the face. The pride evaporates on the spot and is replaced by an awful, sour bitterness. He can’t help but wish, vehemently, that he had a team of experts dedicated to helping him fix his shitty life, even if only for a week.

Then the little voice in his head speaks up – or perhaps it’s not a separate voice, perhaps it’s just _his_ voice. It’s quiet, and calm, and it says:

_I don’t have a team of experts, though. I’ve just got me._

The bitterness fades. Todd clears a path through the mess he made to his closet, and digs out a set of fresh sleeping clothes. Once he’s dressed he returns to the bathroom to find clean bedsheets, and ten minutes later he’s sinking into a newly made bed. Clean sheets, clean clothes, clean skin. Everything else right now is chaos, but he’s managed, for tonight at least, to carve out one small space of clean calm for himself.

And holy shit. It feels _good_. The hot water has done something to his muscles, unwound all the tight spots that usually sit high on his shoulders and low on his back. His hair is clean, and the fresh pillow against his face is old flannel worn into softness.

Todd’s whole body, for once, actually feels okay.

 _I feel okay_ , says the voice in his mind, in quiet awe. _I don’t … feel awful. I feel okay with myself._

It’s his last coherent thought before he falls asleep.

His next coherent thought – barely coherent, but coherent nonetheless – is equally soft, equally quiet: _Dirk_.

It takes Todd a few moments to work out, without opening his eyes, that it’s Thursday morning, and he’s slept solidly the entire night. He’s got no shift today. Instead he has time to wake up at his own pace, so he takes the time.

It’s not until he sits up in bed, feeling pleasantly sleepy-eyed and ruffled, that he remembers his first morning thought, and tries to figure out how it came about. It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s woken up to thoughts of Dirk – but this is something different. His brain, still slightly thick with sleep, feels convinced of something. Dirk has been here.

Of course, Dirk can’t possibly have been here. Todd does come to accept that more consciously as he wakes up more. But there’s something in the air …

His eyes alight on the bowl of bath bombs still sitting on the kitchen counter. During the night they’ve perfumed the apartment, he realizes, just enough for barely-awake-Todd to pick up the mixture of floral, fruity, sugary, herbal smells that combine into the unique fragrance of summery sweetness he associates with seeing Dirk.

Todd stands, stretching out his body and feeling every piece of it click into place like a puzzle that’s been driving him mad. His limbs feeling lighter than they have in ages. He goes to the window and pushes the curtain aside, and morning light streams into the apartment in swathes of white gold.

The sky is a brilliant, shining blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My biggest gripe with my own fic is that Farah isn't in most of it. This is honestly just because it started off as a short AU, was meant to be maybe two or three chapters. As Farah didn't naturally fit into the narrative, and I thought it was going to be short, I didn't try to force her in. But then it just kept going. And got more complicated. I plotted out the general shape of the story, but it wasn't until I actually wrote up to about this chapter that I realised this was going to be a novel-length fic. I considered rewriting and making her Amanda or Todd's roommate, but ... it really didn't work. I needed both Todd and Amanda to be as lonely/isolated as they are, and I couldn't really picture Farah working at the bath store for various reasons. Shoehorning her in elsewhere just felt like ... well, shoehorning.  
> But I love Farah an awful lot, and seeing as her and Todd's neuroses contrast and align so well, it didn't feel like shoehorning to have her be the Queer Eye client, so here she is! Getting a Queer Eye makeover! Getting her house done up and her life turned around! Probably getting together with Tina by the time her episode goes to air!
> 
> Btw, it was my birthday recently and reviews would certainly make my week, especially as this is a chapter I put a LOT of time and effort into and have been really excited to share! <3
> 
> If you've left sizeable reviews in the past, constructive feedback/crit is also welcome if you wish to give it!


	7. Days Keep Getting Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warnings (with spoilers) in the end notes if you find secondhand embarrassment really anxiety-inducing. I have on good authority the scene in question isn't all that bad, but if it's a huge thing for you I've summarised to soften the blow.
> 
> For those of you who are like me and hyperfocus: This chapter is 10k words! Time is a construct but one we are unfortunately bound by! I don't understand it either, believe me, but yes !! If you're looking for a quick read, buddy, this ain't it. Be gentle with your eyeballs. (Sorry I'm chronic fatigue boy again so I'm probs not making much sense.)

That Thursday morning is the morning that Todd Brotzman begins to make an effort. He picks up where he left off the night before and slowly, methodically, he makes his way through the rest of his apartment and cleans the place from top to bottom. The cleaning process itself is arduous, and with December truly ramping up to the holiday season things are getting busier. Between shifts at the hotel, visits to Amanda, and trips to the bath store and Dirk, it takes Todd nearly a week just to scrub his apartment clean. For a week after that there are still boxes of crap to sort through, things to evaluate and organize, and a lot of broken shit to replace.

Rent is more difficult to manage than ever, but Todd manages to calculate a way to put enough aside to get himself a new microwave secondhand. He cleans out his fridge and his kitchen cupboards. He finally forces himself to throw out all the stuff he had planned on fixing or somehow scavenging parts from – moldy old pillows that should no longer see the light of day, the aforementioned ratty sneakers, and one of his kitchen chairs that only has two reliable legs.

He gets rid of the last vestiges of his band days too, ripping the ugly, peeling Mexican Funeral stickers off his walls and tossing out any other merch he happens across. He does keep two shirts, though. One for himself, because as bitter a memory as his band has become, something about the shitty, hand-drawn logo still sparks something in him. (Exactly what it sparks is hard to say, but it’s not completely unpleasant.) Another shirt he keeps because, well … One day Dirk would … maybe like it. It’s not an impulse Todd cares to inspect too closely, but the idea of Dirk in one of Todd’s old band shirts is something that absolutely refuses to leave Todd’s brain the moment it springs into existence. He’s probably being stupid, Dirk probably wouldn’t want one of Todd’s gross old shirts – but he cuts those thoughts off, and folds the freshly washed shirt away in a drawer, with just a hint of hope in his chest.

Todd feels those hints of hope more and more as the days go by, and he slowly begins to unearth things he’d long forgotten about but had once loved dearly. Old toy dinosaurs from his Jurassic Park phase, a set of marbles his dad passed down to him, and other bits and pieces of his childhood that followed him to Seattle. He spends an afternoon hunting out every scattered marble that has spilled under his bed and couch, and silently promises the five-year-old boy he once was that he won’t ever be so careless with them again. He finds his turntables and mixing equipment, his good quality headphones, and finally, his records. It turns out he does have Queen and Bowie. He makes a mental note to offer them to Dirk for a lend, or even as a Christmas present, but it occurs to him that Dirk might not have a record player. Maybe he could get Dirk a player too? No, that’s – that’s probably too much, right? Way too obvious about how much he wants Dirk to like him.

It’s difficult to let go of the train of thought though, and it leads into another when Todd rediscovers old comic books from his teenage years and some _Star Wars_ DVDs. Dirk had said he liked sci-fi but he’d clearly never seen _Star Wars_. Maybe Todd could … use that as a pretext to … invite Dirk over? That’s not too obvious, right? That’s totally casual. Just a casual thing between two guys.

Just a casual thing between two guys is just about the last thing that Todd wants with Dirk, but it’s a start, surely. And Dirk seems like the kind of person who would appreciate the cornier aspects of the old _Star Wars_ films. Todd could ask him over, and make one of those microwave bags of popcorn, and they could sit together on the couch, and maybe, possibly …

Todd glazes over into thoughts of having Dirk curled up against his chest, listening to Dirk make probably-slightly-pompous observations about whether or not explosions should make any sound in space, leaning down to – Todd stops himself before he gets side-tracked by fantasies of straight-up making out with Dirk halfway through _Empire Strikes Back_. He’s getting ahead of himself again. He has to focus, for the moment at least. He has to fix this shithole up before he can even think about letting Dirk inside.

The good news is, some of the stuff Todd finds while clearing out his apartment is actually conducive to the process itself. Although he still loves his records and his instruments, some of his old mixing equipment is just stuff he knows he’ll probably never use again. It’s still in mint condition though, so he’s able to sell it and put most of the money aside for an inevitable rainy day. It takes him two days to get over the shame and guilt of not immediately spending the money on Amanda, or finding ways to sell all his stuff, but he pushes himself back into cleaning, and it helps.

Todd does use a bit of the money to get Amanda and his parents nicer-than-usual Christmas presents, though. Neither Todd or Amanda have attended the Big Annual Brotzman Christmas Do in years, for various reasons, but this year Todd takes a moment on Christmas Day to hole himself away in the hotel breakroom and force himself to call home. His mom picks up, and her happy surprise is so obvious even over the line that Todd’s awkwardness abates just a little. He even suggests _Queer Eye_ to her, only to find out that she’s already watched all four seasons of it and has ‘learned so much about the gay rights culture.’ (Todd and Amanda’s mom supports her kids the only way she knows how – by consuming hours upon hours of daytime television on the subject and sharing post upon post of ‘Proud Mother of A Bisexual Child’ minion-themed memes on Facebook.)

On New Year’s Eve Todd pulls his guitar out of its case for the first time in well over a year. He means to check on it before heading over to Amanda’s for a jam that night, and it’s a good thing he does, because he finds that it has a snapped string and is horrifically out of tune. Luckily by that point he’s already discovered enough spare strings floating around his apartment to have at least three of each one. Apparently he’d just kept buying them without ever realizing he already had some still in their packets, hidden beneath the rubble of his own crap. When he restrings his guitar, he does get side-tracked with chord-strumming, but it’s surprisingly difficult to feel guilty about it. It helps him warm up, and he can hardly remember the last time he played music just for himself, and by himself. He forgot how much he loved it.

Much later that night, Todd and Amanda sit on the latter’s couch, watching the city fireworks on the television with the volume off. Amanda is slightly drunk and very sleepy, slumped comfortably against his shoulder, but Todd is still strumming absently on his guitar, filling the air with soft, nonsense tunes. It occurs to him that a year ago he wouldn’t have thought this state of mind, one almost approaching peace, was possible. He rings in the New Year with his guitar on his lap and his sister by his side, and thoughts of kissing Dirk when the countdown hits zero blossoming in the forefront of his mind.

Once Todd picks up music for himself again, it’s hard to put it down – but again, he can’t make himself feel guilty for it. He wiles away the afternoon of the 2nd of January sitting in the sunlight that streams onto his bed, plucking away at the guitar and trying to see how many Sex Pistols songs his fingers can remember. More than he would have estimated, it turns out.

That’s been probably the most bittersweet thing about the whole exercise. Todd is finding out that while his mind can’t seem to consciously recall who he was before all of his worst mistakes, his body holds more muscle memories of love and joy than he ever could have guessed. After he pulls out his records, he starts putting them on while he cleans. When he consciously tries, he can’t remember all the words to songs he knew he once loved, but often an hour later he’ll find himself singing along without thinking. Sometimes he wonders if it means that some vestige of himself, some fragmented piece of a good soul, is still there underneath all the scum and the muck of six years of guilt and despair. Or perhaps his body just remembers the best parts of the soul who used to reside within it, and it’s still down to Todd to make something out of that.

Either way, the cleaning is helping. So he keeps at it. He listens to his music every day and every day he remembers more of the lyrics. He plays his guitar so frequently that he no longer puts it back in the case, and he starts keeping it by the door next to his bed instead. He starts cooking dinner because he actually has clean pots and pans, and the food is actually worth sitting down and enjoying, so he does. Sometimes he watches an episode of _Queer Eye_ while he eats. Even if the nasty voice in his head mocks him mercilessly for being so into a makeover show, he’s learned that it usually shuts up after the first ten minutes, five if Jonathan’s antics are entertaining enough to make Todd nearly choke on his homemade pasta.

After a month his apartment is transformed. Not transformed in any sense that would be impressive enough to rate alongside Bobby’s work, because Todd is neither a professional interior designer nor someone with anything resembling a makeover budget, but it’s radically different. It’s clean. It no longer looks like a squalid witness protection bolt-hole.

He’s changed the layout enough to separate the 'living room' area from his 'bedroom' area. It’s almost absurd how much putting up a $10 paper screen to partially obscure his bed and standing closet has helped improve his state of mind, but Todd doesn’t question it. He couldn’t afford to replace the couch and he knows he’s just going to have to wait until a cheap opportunity presents itself on Craigslist, but in the mean time he’s piled blankets and cushions on it strategically and is actually pretty pleased with the result. He had to choose between a new-ish couch and fixing the walls, but once the walls are done he’s glad he optioned for the latter. There are some stains and scars he can’t fix, but he’s scrubbed away the worst of the smoke stains, spackled up holes, and touched up the paint where he can.

The apartment is still small, and kind of threadbare, but now in a way that can almost pass for indie. During the day sunlight fills the space, and since Todd replaced all the lightbulbs the apartment no longer flickers with the kind of fluorescent lighting that makes even the healthiest person look like someone undergoing chemotherapy. Instead when he comes home at night, the lights are warm, and the space is tidy and … _homey_.

He’s found pictures of Amanda as a toddler, being led around the backyard by twelve-year-old Todd, him and Amanda jamming on keyboard and drums, Mom and Dad in awful, matching Hawaiian shirts. He puts them up around the apartment wherever he can. He’s also properly set out his records and turntables and the few bits of mixing equipment he kept, and hung up a couple of band posters and a large printed tapestry of The Clash which Amanda got him years ago. The bowl of bath bombs now lives on the kitchen counter, and every morning when Todd wakes up and every evening when he gets home, the scent of the bath bombs is the first thing that greets him.

There are still things that need fixing. Still a lot of stuff that should be replaced in the long run. But soon, he thinks.

_Soon I wouldn’t mind bringing Dirk here._

He can imagine Dirk here now. The air isn’t thick with sadness anymore. A part of Todd also feels like bringing Dirk home would be the equivalent of bringing a priest to an exorcism site and getting him to banish any remaining demons.

With his guitar leaning by the door, Todd gets into the habit of playing it right after he gets home every day. Soon it becomes a routine; get home, toss bag by the door, and sit on the couch playing guitar until whatever bullshit the hotel guests did to him that day fades from the front of his mind. After that he showers, or – when he can spare the extra time – he has a bath using one of the products Dirk gave him. If the day is good, and he doesn’t have any anger to burn out of himself with a twenty-minute guitar solo, he spends his guitar time drifting through thoughts – whether it’s daydreaming about Dirk or recalling his last visit with Amanda, or just being at home in his own brain. If the day is particularly shitty, he heads straight to the bathroom to quite literally wash it out of his hair.

‘Wind-down routines,’ for all that Dirk, Karamo, and everyone else has seemed to swear by them, were never something Todd thought could apply usefully to someone like him. He thinks he’s starting to understand it all, though. He’s not sure he understands _himself_ , not yet anyway, and he knows – god, he _knows_ – he still has a long way to go before he’s anywhere near decent. But he does think, or hope, that the effort he’s already put in has had some effect. It seems like he’s not completely delusional in thinking that either, because around the three-week mark Amanda begins to notice.

“ _Dude_ ,” she says to him, the third visit after The Wednesday Night That Todd Decided To Take Control Of His Stupid Fucking Life. “No offence, but like – you look great.”

Todd is startled into a laugh halfway through stepping into her house, two pizza boxes in one arm. “Okay, thanks for sounding so shocked.”

“No, you just … look way less like a sleep paralysis cryptid.”

“Oh my god, fuck off,” Todd snorts, giving her the smallest of shoves into the hallway wall on reflex. For a split second he’s horrified with himself for pushing her – until Amanda breaks into a delighted grin.

“Asshole!” She pushes him back. “Don’t you know I have a _condition_ ,” she says with heavily-laid-on faux drama.

“So do I,” Todd says solemnly, and for a moment Amanda tenses. “It’s a deadly condition. Terminal, actually. It’s, uh, it’s a rare blood disease …”

Amanda’s grin is back in an instant as she chimes in along with him, “Stick-it-to-the-man-eosis!”

They burst into laughter at the same time, and it’s short, and there’s a bit of an awkward pause as it dies away – but it’s genuine. Todd will take the awkward pause if it means he can make his sister light up like that again.

Amanda gestures to the pizzas. “Those for the week?”

Todd considers, then continues down the hall. “Nah, they’re for me.”

“Hey, wait –”

“I figured, with your _condition_ , you’re too delicate to eat pepperoni, so …”

Amanda chases after him, yelling protests and laughing, and when she digs an elbow in under his ribs and, predictably, absconds with the pizza, Todd is laughing too.

Afterwards, when they’re sitting on her couch and have slowed down to the bit of stuffing their faces where their faces are mostly stuffed, Amanda asks him again.

“Seriously, though. You look …” She glances over his face. “Like, way better. And …” She leans forward to sniff him; he pulls a face and pushes her off. “Is that _soap_?”

“Lavender, yeah. Pretty sure it was one of the lavender ones,” Todd replies without thinking. Dirk has mainly given him bath bombs and bath bars with lavender in them. Todd isn’t sure what that means, but the smell is neutral and nice, and his monkey brain has started to associate it with ‘ _ah-yes-now-body-is-clean_.’

Amanda, when Todd looks back at her, seems to be actually vibrating with excitement.

“What?”

“Have you been trying out a bath bomb?” she asks, with much the same tone a food critic would use to say ‘ _have you finally tasted freshly-caught free-range Atlantic Salmon?_ ’

For once, it doesn’t actually occur to Todd to lie to her. “Uh, yeah, actually. I used this purple one last night, it had like, stars on it and stuff, it was –”

“Twilight! Yeah!” Amanda sits up. “That was one of the first ones you got me! What’d you think?”

“It was … actually really nice,” Todd admits, feeling a bit stupid but attempting a smile nonetheless.

“See!” Amanda bats at his arm with the hand currently holding a slice of pizza, and nearly drops pepperoni in his lap. “Oh, my bad. Nah, but don’t be like, embarrassed because you tried fancy bath stuff, dude. It’s punk to enjoy yourself and be clean.”

Todd laughs, “Yeah, I don’t know if being clean is punk.”

“Being clean is punk,” Amanda insists through another mouthful, “if you’re being clean to stick it to the establishment that says poor people should be dirty.”

_Shit_ ,Todd thinks to himself. _She kind of has a point._

Amanda knows she’s won; she points a victorious finger at him.

“Hah! The pupil has surpassed the teacher,” she says smugly. “Ya dick.”

Todd throws a piece of onion at her.

 

* * *

 

Amanda is so happily chatty for the rest of the visit, prodding Todd for his opinions on various bath products and eager to find out which ones they’ve both tried. There’s a brief moment where Todd is pierced by the horrible thought that maybe Amanda will think that he’s spending all his money on buying bath products for himself like some kind of selfish asshole – but then it becomes so obvious that she’s overjoyed he’s been using them too that even the nasty voice in his head can’t find fault with the enterprise. It’s like the moment when Mom had realized who was wishing her Merry Christmas and her voice had gone up half an octave with pleased surprise. Todd’s guilt falters and falls on its face whenever he manages to make the people he loves genuinely happy.

Amanda also won’t stop going on about how clean Todd is now, to the point where Todd would think he was some kind of disgusting swamp thing before if it weren’t for the fact that he knows she means clean in more than one sense. He _feels_ clean in more than one sense; stripped back, almost uncomfortably bare, but fresh. New. He also feels happy, and not just when he’s talking to Dirk or Amanda, and that is yet another kind of cleanliness – one that feels shiny and precious.

Amanda isn’t the only person who’s noticed a change. One Friday Dirk pounces on him nearly the second Todd steps foot in the store.

“Sir! I was – oh!” Dirk steps back. A slow smile spreads over his face like silly, sunny butter. “ _Sir_.”

Todd’s stomach ties itself into a knot more complicated than that of Dirk’s baby-pink headwrap of the day.

“Y-yeah?” His voice cracks a little. He clears it, then tries again, slightly lower. “Yeah?”

Dirk moves closer, and then, for a moment so tantalizing it nearly makes Todd pass out on the spot, Dirk ducks his head down and Todd thinks he’s about to get kissed in the middle of a bath store. Todd has to quash the urge to actually pull Dirk in by the hips, and it’s a good thing he’s focused on that, because all Dirk does is take in a long deep breath by Todd’s temple.

“Sir, you … you’ve tried one of the bath bombs!”

Todd is still a bit dazed when Dirk moves away. “… Oh, yeah.”

“The avocado one, isn’t it? I’d know that smell anywhere, it’s very distinctive.”

It’s exactly the bath bomb that Todd had used the night before. Once again, he’s impressed by the fact that Dirk is actually kind of … amazing.

Dirk leans in again and takes another breath, and Todd’s fingers twitch to reach for him before he’s gone again. But Todd holds himself still, and Dirk reels back with a dopey grin.

“You – smell – _fantastic_.”

Todd is seized with a sudden determination to use mainly avocado-based bath products for the rest of his life.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dirk puts his hands up, “I’m crowding you, I know –”

_You could definitely crowd me some more_ , Todd thinks to himself.

_Shut up!_ One of the more practical voices in his head nudges him.  _Pay attention._

Dirk is talking, he’s talking a lot and very rapidly about something. Todd is too discombobulated from two heady doses of up-close-and-personal-Dirk to decipher any of it.

_Oh my god, his mouth is moving._

_Yes, and now you’re supposed to respond. Good luck remembering what he just said._

“… That’s … Sure?”

Dirk shoots him an impatient but undeniably fond look. “Sir. Were you listening to a word I was saying?”

“I know your mouth was moving,” Todd says, with extreme stupidity, and then is entirely occupied with trying not to punch himself right in his dumb fucking face.

Luckily – or unluckily – the accidental flirtation seems to fly right past Dirk’s nose like a bullet ricocheting off a titanium bunker and embedding itself in the shooter’s foot instead.

“Yes, yes, I know, I talk too much, but what can anyone do about it?” Dirk says breezily.

Todd manages not to point out, or worse, demonstrate what could be done about it.

“I was _saying_ …” Dirk presses his hands together nervously. “Was it okay? I mean, did you like it?”

Todd blinks, several times. “Sorry, what?”

“The bath bomb!”

“Oh, right!” Todd gets back on track, full of embarrassment. “Yeah! I mean. It was cool. I liked it.” It occurs to him then that if Dirk is noticing _immediately_ that Todd has tried a bath bomb, then Dirk has known for months that Todd hadn’t been using the products but had kept slipping them to him anyway. “Wait, shit – I’m sorry it took so long, I …”

“No, no, no – it’s fine!” Dirk hurries to reassure him with his characteristically sweet earnestness. “I didn’t want to pressure you! At least I hope I didn’t pressure you … I know I kept giving them to you but it wasn’t because – I just wanted them to be there if you ever felt like …”

“No, you never made me feel pressured!” Todd reassures him in turn.

Dirk relaxes. He smiles shyly, fidgeting. “Well. When you’re ready, you’re ready, you know.”

 

* * *

 

From the encouragement of Dirk, Amanda, and _Queer Eye_ , Todd begins to put effort into other areas. He’s been letting his facial hair grow as it pleased and simply shaving back whenever his manager started to give him prissy looks, but now he trims it into a coherent shape and maintains it. An evening’s worth of Googling helps him pick out a moisturizer that sits comfortably within the parameters of ‘dirt-cheap’ and ‘likely to actually work.’ After watching an episode where Jonathan gets so lecture-y as to sing a little song about the importance of sunscreen, Todd starts bothering to wear some of that too. And after Amanda links him, possibly jokingly, to a video titled ‘Self-Care For Broke Bitches,’ Todd starts bothering to do other things.

As much as he hates to admit it, some of them are things that people have been telling him to do for years. Drinking water, putting his phone away after a certain hour of the night, trying to maintain a coherent sleep schedule, eating vegetables. But it’s not really that these things were, after all, the secret ingredient to un-fucking-up his life. It’s just that they do actually help him be in a state of body and mind where he’s _capable_ of tackling the problem of un-fucking-up his life. Starting to integrate them into his daily routine is hard, undeniably hard, because his daily routine is full of other shit like trauma (for which he’s to blame), mess (for which he’s to blame), and illness (for which he’s to blame). But when he redirects all the energy he’s been putting into reminding himself that he’s to blame for things not being fixed, and actually starts to _fix_ them … things start to come together.

Todd can’t lifehack, make-do-and-mend, and substitute-for-less his way through every problem, though. No matter how many Youtube videos he watches on the subject, and no matter how many years he’s been at it, Todd is still totally shit at cutting his own hair. After putting in the work to look after the rest of his body, there’s something depressing about ruining it with one of his usual dodgy haircuts. (Todd’s never been good at doing his own hair; Amanda still won’t shut up about the time he thought a home dye-job was a good idea and ended up with the ugliest mop of black hair for six months.) So he just lets his hair grow out while he tries to come up with a solution.

A solution which presents itself another Wednesday afternoon at the bath store.

“Gosh, your hair really is getting long, isn’t it?”

It’s been a month since Todd started cleaning up, and five months since he first started going to the bath store. It’s early January, and the holiday-themed specials and limited editions have almost entirely sold out, but what little remains is on sale, so Todd is picking out one of the leftover pre-gift-wrapped boxes for Amanda. Dirk has been quiet for a long time while Todd weighs up between a star-themed box and a Christmas-food-themed box. Usually Dirk being quiet is a pre-cursor to Dirk being extremely talkative, so Todd isn’t too surprised when Dirk finally blurts it out. He is surprised by what Dirk asks next, though.

“Can I touch it?”

Todd stands up from where he’s been crouched, reading the tag of one of the Christmas Star box. He works hard to keep a calm face, while internally the various, constantly bickering parts of him slowly descend into chaos.

“Sorry?” he says, and manages not to sound strained.

“Can I touch your hair?” Dirk asks again, pleasantly.

_Calm face, calm face. Be cool. Dirk wants to touch me. It’s cool._

“Sure. Um …” Todd shifts closer, ducks his head – and then is completely unsuccessful at not shivering when he feels Dirk’s fingers slide up into his hair.

If Dirk notices, he doesn’t say anything. He’s standing close enough for his chest to be nearly brushing Todd’s forehead. Once again, Todd has to stop himself from pulling Dirk closer – that’s been an increasingly pressing problem, lately. Dirk’s fingers leave tingles in their wake as they comb through Todd’s hair, and Todd is so, so fucking aware of it – he’s aware of how close Dirk is and how far away and how if Todd raised his head at the right moment they’d be at the perfect angle to kiss –

Dirk’s hands trail away, and when Todd lifts his head they’re too far apart.

This aching in his chest really is getting out of hand.

Dirk grins, and the tension breaks. “Thought so.”

“What?”

“Your hair is soft. I always knew it would be.”

Too many implications. Todd’s brain is going to snap like dry ramen under the stress of Dirk’s flirting one day, and then what will happen?

Another part of him is simply relieved that it _is_ soft and clean, because he knows that a month ago it wouldn’t have been. It would have been gross, and probably oily, and he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the sensation of Dirk touching him because all he would have been able to think about was how disgusting he was and what Dirk would think of it and – Oh.

“So that’s what Tan was talking about,” Todd says aloud.

Dirk, of course, perks up so abruptly that he nearly shoots into the ceiling. “Tan? As in … Tan France? As in …” Absolute delight dawns on his face. “Sir. Have you been watching _Queer Eye_?”

Todd, five months ago, would have turned bright red and wished desperately to sink into the crust of the earth. Todd, right now, bites back a smile.

“Maybe.”

“Oh my god, I am _so_ happy for you – isn’t it brilliant? Have you finished it all yet? Where did you start? Have you seen the latest season? I finished it as soon as I could, under the stress of Panto’s very heartless and cruel threat to cut me out of his Netflix account, of course – but do you see what I meant?”

Todd’s smile has broken out openly as Dirk gushes. “I’m starting to.”

“Which of the Fab Five is your favorite?” Dirk asks eagerly. “Personally, I find Karamo extremely comforting, but I _do_ also relate to Antoni on what I feel is a very deep and instinctual level. Tan is a fellow Brit though, so I have to side with him. Not merely to be patriotic, of course, because patriotism is _grossly overrated_ , simply in terms of – oh, I’m info-dumping on you again, aren’t I?”

Todd shakes his head. He hasn’t stopped smiling. “I don’t mind. The … info-dumping is …” He considers not saying it, it almost sticks in his throat, but he pushes it out – because even if it makes Todd feel like he wants to crawl out of his own skin, Dirk deserves compliments. “… It’s nice.”

Todd is paid back in full for a single compliment when Dirk blushes from his neck to his ears.

“I …” Dirk bops on the spot the way he does when just can’t seem to hold back the joy. “I am _fount_ of knowledge, most of it useless in almost any given scenario, but I do very much enjoy sharing said knowledge with people.”

“I know,” Todd grins. Then he says, “My favorite’s Jonathan.”

Dirk looks taken aback, though not displeased. “Jonathan? Really? I mean – not to sound disparaging, Jonathan _is_ fantastic, I just thought … Tan is a lot cooler.”

Todd shrugs. “Jonathan’s … fun.”

Jonathan is also surprisingly sharp under a bluster of fluffy silliness, as well as very camp, very extreme, and very kind. Todd had consciously realized about five episodes in that Jonathan reminded him unavoidably of Dirk. It would probably be impossible for him to get anywhere near as attached to any of the other Fab Five.

 He doesn’t say this to Dirk, because Todd might be trying out new things, but it’s going to be a long time before he can try out something as new as openly admitting his very personal feelings in public, to someone he has a raging crush on. Dirk, however, is … surprisingly sharp under a bluster of fluffy silliness. Dirk narrows his eyes and smiles teasingly.

“You really ought to get it cut soon,” he says, briefly reaching out to rake one hand through Todd’s hair again. “I can’t see your eyes. Which is a dreadful shame.”

Todd pulls back to straighten his hair. “You’re probably right. And, um …” Again, he pushes the thought that springs to mind all the way out of his mouth, “I can’t see your eyes either, so … ‘Dreadful shames’ all round, I guess.”

Todd can’t look at Dirk after saying that; his face is burning again, his armpits are sweating – god, what was he _thinking_ , that was weirdest, nerdiest shit to say –

Something touches his hand, and Todd jumps. Dirk has shifted, closer to Todd’s side and near enough to momentarily brush the back of his fingers against Todd’s hand, almost casually, except that nothing Dirk does is ever remotely casual.

“Do you know, I consider you my favorite ever customer?” Dirk says, a smile in his voice.

“Oh?” Todd replies, as though his heart isn’t just about leaping out of his mouth.

“And like I said, we don’t have a loyalty program …” Dirk’s fingers are still achingly close – if Todd stretched his hand just slightly, they would touch again. “But it’s just occurred to me that there is one thing I can do for you. To say thank you. For your business, and all that.”

Todd’s stomach feels warm, everything feels warm, and holy fuck – is he seriously getting kind of not-quite-sexually turned on by one barely-there hand touch and a couple of suggestive sentences?

Dirk hasn’t elaborated, and Todd can _feel_ him smiling – and it’s probably one of his more infuriating smiles too, the ones that make Todd almost grateful for his own repression. At least while he’s this repressed he’s not in danger of kissing Dirk with no warning.

“It’s … fine,” Todd forces himself to say, if only to keep his mouth occupied.

Dirk is close enough that, even with his eyes fixed on the ground, Todd can sense the physical outline of him at the edges of his own spatial awareness – and he feels it when Dirk draws back. Todd looks up, and Dirk’s face is strangely conflicted. It takes Todd a moment to realize how stilted his own voice sounded, and to decipher Dirk’s expression as hurt uncertainty.

_Shit_.

He should probably be glad that Dirk seems to think Todd is rebuffing him, because Todd should rebuff him. Todd doesn’t deserve something as nice as Dirk. But Dirk looks confused and small, and that’s painful enough, and instead of letting it be, Todd’s first impulse is to plead, ‘ _no, no, please don’t stop flirting with me_.’ Before Todd can make his mind up, Dirk has retreated further, visibly trying to be casual about it. Which, again, is painful.

“I just – I meant, of course,” Dirk says, “Panto could do it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Todd’s hand, without conscious thought, moves to reach for Dirk – but Dirk has already half turned away, a bright smile plastered onto his face.

“I’ll ask him, shall I? He does his own hair and his husband’s – mine too, sometimes, and my sister’s. He’s a genius with a pair of scissors.”

Dirk slips away before Todd can catch him. And that gives Todd an awful feeling; a low-lying anxiety in the pit of his stomach, as if that interaction was some kind of terrible portent.

It’s not as if he doesn’t _want_ to flirt back. It’s not even as if he doesn’t know what to say, because a dozen flirtatious things suggest themselves readily just about every time he lays eyes on Dirk. They’re all stupid things, and they’d probably land about as well as chicken trying to fly over a ten-foot fence, but a lack of ideas isn’t the problem. The problem is the nasty voice still lingering like an ever-persistent spider, re-building its cobwebs in the corners of his mind no matter how many times he tries to sweep them away.

_You know you don’t deserve him_ , the nasty voice reminds him.

_But I’ve been trying to_ , says the other voice – the one Todd wants to believe is just him, but it sounds so small again.   _I’ve been working really hard. Every single day._

_What, like that means anything? Pretending to be good just so you can get the rewards isn’t the same as_ being _genuinely good person._

Todd wants to believe he isn’t just pretending. But what if he is? What if this is all just another lie, constructed to fool Dirk – to fool Amanda, yet again?

He’s been trying so hard to believe that there’s something good still in him, something worth saving, but what if he’s finally fooled himself too? What if the real truth was the scum and the muck and the misery, and all this cleaning he’s been doing is just a sparkly layer of obfuscation over the unpleasant fact that he is and always will be a total asshole?

Dirk hasn’t come back, and panic is slowly seeping into every inch of Todd’s chest, and every noise in the mall feels amplified by that panic – chattering and cash registers and loud, high laughter, and shit, is he going to cry here? Now, in public? He turns to face the nearest shelf and does his best to look occupied, trying to will the panic away, trying to be calm. He can’t – he _won’t_ have one of his … moments in public.

He tries to think. He tries to keep his head above the water.

Todd’s been trying to give himself the benefit of the doubt. He’s been trying to treat himself as if he’s someone worth saving. And it felt like it was paying off. The idea that all of that might have been for nothing, that there might not be any point to putting in effort, not for people like him – that floods with him absolute despair.

But in the midst of the despair, there’s something else. Something harder, something hot, something that sparks against something else, and – Todd chases the thought, grasps it, and recognizes it from four weeks ago, staring into his bathroom mirror.

The frustration is back.

Todd feels despair, yes, he feels the weight of the panic and the fear and the anxiety pressing down on him like an ocean – but god, the frustration. _He does not want to live like this_. How can anyone live like this, pinned like a helpless creature to the sea floor? He wants to smile. He wants to laugh with his sister. He wants to make his sister laugh, at old jokes and new jokes. He wants to play his guitar every evening and take long stupid baths and cook himself pasta.

He wants to stretch his fingers out and close the distance between him and Dirk. The frustration of wanting Dirk is more than drowning – it’s all-encompassing. It’s every sensation at once. Not-quite-sexual frustration, emotional frustration; horrible, terrible loneliness and need and freezing to death five feet away from the loveliest of hearth-fires. Todd wants Dirk so badly that it’s enough to make him want to stop caring about whether or not he deserves to. He wants to toss that eternal, exhausting argument out the window entirely and just bask in everything that is Dirk.

For better or worse, for serious or casual, Dirk is flirting with him. And Todd wants to flirt back. Because god knows it can’t last forever. He doesn’t want this – this _feeling_ , whatever it is, to just slip away underneath another pile of his own mistakes. Neglected. Unseen. Forgotten. Dirk isn’t a record collection. He’s not going to wait around forever.

Todd doesn’t just have to make an effort. He has to make a decision.

He hadn’t expected to have to make that decision within the next five seconds, but it’s probably a good thing that he wasn’t left to mire in his own thoughts for much longer.

“Are you free tonight?” Dirk has reappeared at what is either the worst or best possible moment, and he’s asking what’s either the worst or best possible question.

And once again, Todd’s bare instincts prove themselves to be braver than he is when he overthinks.

“Yes,” Todd says instantly. His voice is louder than it probably should be. Also, he didn’t actually pause to check that he is free tonight. Doesn’t matter. He is now. Decision made. Easier done than thought about at excruciating length.

And fuck – the moment he says it, it’s like all the weight lifts off his chest at once.

“Excellent.” Dirk pulls back the sleeve of his black sweater, baring his wrist-watch. He’s apparently one of those people who wears it against his pulse, upside-down, because of course he is. He contorts his arm to read it, and squints down at it for a very long time, muttering to himself.

Todd’s heart leaps and bounds like a fucking ballerina.

“Ten to half-past now … Yes. Okay.” He flicks his sleeve back down. “We don’t close until five-thirty tonight, but if you like you can go grab something in the food court until then. If you meet me back here at five-forty the last customers should be out.”

Todd’s entire body seems to be full of wildly thrashing butterflies, which is the only excuse he can give for how high his voice comes out when he replies, “Sure! Yeah!”

_Stop that, you sound like a teenager, for fuck’s sake._

He schools himself into outward calm. It feels like trying to hold still while a fire hydrant explodes in his face. The panic has entirely disappeared now – or perhaps just transformed into a new kind of panic. Shit, is his skin actually on fire? Is he sweating? He’s probably sweating. God, he’s probably gone all red the way he does when he runs.

He tries again. “Sure. You, uh … you want anything? I could pick up something for you?” Todd has no idea what Dirk has in mind, and knowing Dirk a first date could entail anything from a movie to … probably breaking and entering, given the worrying amount of times Dirk’s stories have involved off-hand references to running away from the cops.

“Hmm?” Dirk seems slightly distracted – another flux of customers have just come in. “Oh no, no – don’t be silly, you don’t need to do anything like that. Just bring yourself.”

Todd allows himself to soak up the glow of Dirk’s smile, even if it is somewhat absent. “Sure,” he says again, faintly. He can feel himself smiling too.

A toddler across the store shrieks at the top of their pint-sized lungs, and Dirk flinches violently.

“Christ,” he winces. “Okay. Duty calls, have to go, love you and leave you – all that jazz.”

Todd has never been so unperturbed by a screaming child in his entire life. He’s fucking soaring.

“Yes, okay – that’s … perfect. I’ll see you at five-forty.” He smiles at Dirk – he can’t stop smiling anyway, and Dirk spares a moment to look at him.

He looks almost surprised by whatever he sees on Todd’s face, but he smiles too, more genuinely.

“It’s not the favor of a lifetime, sir,” he says, teasing again. “Don’t go making a big deal out of it, or anything.”

Todd is chastened, but only a little. He can’t tell if Dirk is just teasing, or if he’s trying to caution Todd’s probably painfully obvious enthusiasm, but for once he’s too wrapped up in the highs to even consider the lows. He has a date. He has a date with _Dirk_.

That’s pretty much the only coherent sentence zipping in rounds through his mind as Todd exits the store. He continues to exist in that surreal state for the next ten minutes, floating his way towards the mall food court. It’s not until he sits down with the cheapest bucket of chips he could find that Todd’s worry machine snaps back into action.

_Oh god, I have a date with Dirk._

He’s still in his work uniform. Minus the hat and jacket, because he wouldn’t let Dirk catch him dead in that fucking hat, but he’s still got his bow-tie on today. There’s no time to get home, change, and get back. He’s sweaty and clammy from a twelve-hour shift at the hotel, and he probably looks like a squashed tomato. For a truly insane moment he considers buying a slightly less unfortunate outfit to change into – he hasn’t bought any new clothes in years, and one of the mental notes he’d made while cleaning was that that might have to happen soon anyway, but … No, he can’t afford that. Just because this crush has been driving him slowly insane for five months doesn’t mean he can suddenly afford to throw money at it.

The work uniform will have to do. Todd wolfs down the chips and heads to the bathroom. He probably looks crazy, scrubbing his face with pink soap from the dispenser. He definitely gets a couple of weird looks when he grabs several fistfuls of paper towel, runs them under the tap, and then disappears into one of the stalls with them in hand. If there’s even a chance that he might get to be close to Dirk tonight, though, there’s no way he’s going to make Dirk _or_ him suffer through whatever body odor might be clinging to him after work. In the privacy of the stall he strips off his work shirt and uses the wet towels to freshen up as best he can. The shirt itself, thank god, doesn’t smell.

When he re-emerges from the men’s room he’s done the best he could on very short notice, and he would like to think that Tan and Jonathan would be proud of him. He’s rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, pulled off his dumb bow-tie and shoved it in his pocket, and undone his top two buttons. He’s clean, even if he probably smells like dollar store soap, and he’s brushed his hair with his fingers to try and order it into something resembling an okay look.

Now he’s just absolutely wracked with nerves, and with a good fifteen minutes left to stew in them.

_Don’t let this drown you_ , Todd reminds himself with Karamo’s voice.

It’s something he’s taken to reminding himself a lot, on days when his back has ached from cleaning and he feels like he can’t sort through one more pile of crap, or nights when he’s so tired that brushing his teeth feels like a herculean feat. As always, it helps. It centers him.

He’s not going to show up to meet Dirk for a date acting like a total mess. Dirk deserves a nice date, a clean date, a date who can hold his shit together for one night. So that’s exactly what Todd’s going to be, come hell or high fucking water.

Todd still needs something to do pass the time though, and he hits upon a slightly ridiculous idea. It’s probably … a bit much for a first date. But _Dirk_ is a bit much, isn’t he? Dirk kind of appreciates things that are a bit much, so …

Todd wants to get him buttercups – those are his first thought. Buttercups remind him of Dirk. But the slightly tacky, teddy-bear-populated florist’s in the mall doesn’t have buttercups. The closest thing it has are daffodils, so Todd gets a bunch of those instead. The florist, who is an extremely crabby woman who speaks very little English, but a lot of rapid, muttered Russian, begrudging wraps them in pink cellophane at Todd’s behest. Pink is the second thing Todd associates with Dirk. Soft. Sweet. Warm. Slightly annoying at times.

So Todd turns up to the bath store at five-forty on the dot with a dozen daffodils in hand, pulling nervously at his shirtfront and trying to check it’s tucked into his pants casually but like, not _too_ casually. Panto greets him; he’s halfway through locking up.

“Hello, there! Dirk’s just gone to get dinner, he should be back soon.” Panto’s eyes fall on the bunch of daffodils. “Oh, really, you shouldn’t have.”

_Shit, I shouldn’t have?_ Todd thinks in a spike of panic.

“I … um. I thought …”

Panto silences him by taking the flowers and striding away into the store.

_Did he …? Did he just steal my fucking flowers?_

Todd follows Panto into the store with befuddled annoyance, only to come to a halt as Panto passes the counter.

“Dirk’s right, you really are a sweetheart. I’ll put them in water right away.”

Todd is about to point out that there’s not much point putting them in water if Dirk and he are going to leave in a few minutes, but Panto interrupts him.

“You can follow me, don’t worry. Everything’s set up out the back.” Panto smiles and disappears behind the door.

Todd, hesitantly, follows him, but he’s feeling distinctly wrong-footed. Are he and Dirk going to have a date in the back of the bath store? No, that’s dumb. Dirk’s weird, but surely that falls more into the category of ‘ _is this man bound by an eldritch curse to stay within the confines of a bath store?_ ’

Behind the door marked ‘Employees Only’ is a small backroom. Todd almost expects to find a table cartoonishly laid out with dinner plates and candles, but there’s just a small, barren break table and two chairs pushed up into one corner. There’s an empty, recently used mug, but that’s about it. There’s also a large sink set into the left wall, mostly filled with clean metal bowls, and the rest of the space is dominated by countertops dusted with bath bomb glitter and laden with cardboard boxes, presumably of products. Panto emerges from a tiny bathroom at the back. He’s put Dirk’s flowers in a large empty glass bottle.

Todd opens his mouth to say something, possibly _“hey, dude, what the fuck?”_ but is interrupted by the arrival of the man of the hour.

“Hullo, sir!” Dirk clatters in from behind Todd, who spins on the spot to look at him. Dirk is carrying three plastic containers of stir-fry. “I wasn’t sure if you would eat properly, so you can eat with us.”

Todd tries to point out that they could also not do that, they could just go eat somewhere without forcing Panto to be their weird third wheel, but _again_ , he’s interrupted.

“Look what he brought me, Dirk!” Panto holds up the glass bottle of flowers. “Isn’t the pink wrapping a lovely touch? Maybe he’s not just your favorite now. I might steal him.”

For fifth time that night, Todd attempts to speak, this time to say that no, both the flowers and Todd belong one hundred percent to _Dirk_ and Dirk alone – but then he cuts himself off. He’s turned around and spotted something else about the backroom.

One of the counters has a chair pulled up before it, and on the counter space in front of the chair is a set of combs, hair-brushes, and scissors. And propped up against the wall is a mirror, a mirror currently reflecting both the chair and Todd’s stupid, stupid face.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“Flowers.” Dirk’s voice is faint, and slightly odd. “That’s … that’s so nice. Lovely, yes, of course! A bit much for a free haircut – but you’re very sweet, sir!”

_Oh god_. Todd absolutely cannot look at Dirk.

He’s fucked up again. He assumed – he _assumed_ , like a total asshat, and now Dirk thinks Todd bought Panto flowers as a thank-you for cutting his hair, and Todd wants to dive into his own self-hatred.

“Can I use the bathroom?” he says. His voice sounds distant to his own ears – he’s hanging half out of his own body again.

“Of course,” Panto says with all the gracious tact of a prince, and the moment he does Todd rushes into the little bathroom and locks the door behind him.

_You’ve got to be the stupidest, most ego-tripping dickhead this side of Seattle_ , hisses the nasty voice, crystal clear in his mind.

Gripping the sink with both hands, Todd lifts his head. The man in the bathroom mirror looks back at him with disgust. The nasty voice draws in a breath, and Todd knows he’s about to get it.

And then – one more time – things are interrupted.

“There’s no need to sulk, Dirk.” Panto’s voice sounds from outside the door, only slightly muffled. It’s pitched low, but Todd can still make it out.

He can also make out Dirk’s undeniably sulky reply, “I’m not sulking.”

“Oh, really?” Panto chuckles. “Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” says Dirk irritably.

“That you just happen to look like the spitting image of your sister, the last time I beat her at fencing.”

Dirk makes a quiet, grumbly noise. “I do not.”

“Trembling bottom lip, big sad eyes – the family resemblance truly is uncanny.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You know there’s an easy solution to your little … problem.”

“Oh yes, thank you, Panto – that never occurred to me. Truly, I am _blessed_ to have such a wise and benevolent gay mentor in my life.”

There’s a thwacking noise, closely followed by a squeak of indignation from Dirk.

“You’re dancing around the issue, gently.”

“I would say I’m dancing around it playfully.”

Another thwacking noise.

“You think I haven’t tried?” Dirk hisses. “I’ve been going absolutely bloody spare, I …” He lowers his voice further, and Todd can no longer hear him clearly.

Panto says something in equally muffled reply. Todd, slightly maddened, briefly considers pressing up against the door – but that would be deliberate eavesdropping, and is that a kind of lying …?

As Panto and Dirk whisper beyond the door, Todd’s thoughts are left to turn over what he’s already heard, picking up each sentence like a river stone and weighing it in his hand.

Why would Dirk be sulking? Did Todd upset him by disappearing suddenly into the bathroom? It probably looked pretty ungrateful, in the context of Dirk having just set up a free haircut for him. Or maybe Dirk just wanted to have him around?

Dirk’s ‘little problem?’ What the hell does that mean? Is it Todd, or something else? For all he knows, Dirk and Panto could be talking about a hair that Dirk’s just found in his stir-fry.

The only conclusion that Todd is coming to is that he would have made a really shitty detective. Then Dirk’s voice sounds clearly again, and what he says and the cadence seem to provide an extremely suggestive clue.

“I _love_ daffodils,” he says, and he sounds sulkier than ever.

That’s peak-sulk. Todd has witnessed more emotionally reasonable five-year-olds. It’s just about the sulkiest sulk Todd has ever heard.

Dirk proceeds to break his own sulk record by tacking on, with utmost sulk, “You don’t even _really_ like them, Panto.”

“I like them just fine.”

“Not the way I do.” Dirk sighs gustily. “You don’t understand. I want daffodils from a cute boy.”

And Todd’s brain, as Dirk would put it, goes absolutely bloody spare.

“Yes, Dirk,” Panto is saying flatly. “I don’t understand. I never had to court my husband at all, I just popped into existence, factory-built with him as an appendage.”

Todd isn’t really listening at this point. Dirk is sulking because of him, yes, but it seems – it _seems_ to be for a reason almost too good to be true.

Todd tries to slow down. _Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t assume everything is just … coming up daffodils._

_Yeah, but don’t assume everything is completely falling to shit either_ , says the little voice smartly.

It … kind of has a point.

Todd considers what seems most likely to be true. Dirk is sulking because of the flowers. Dirk is sulking because he wanted the flowers. And he wanted them, it seems … specifically from Todd. Maybe. Possibly.

Dirk thinks Todd is a cute boy.

Todd looks at his reflection once again. He tries to see a cute boy; he can’t, not really. But the thought that Dirk might … That Dirk, even though he hadn’t meant to ask Todd out on a date, had wanted Todd’s flowers for himself anyway …

And then, belatedly, the realization that he, Todd – even though he’d been incorrect at the time – had accepted a date offer from Dirk and hadn’t … spontaneously combusted. He hadn’t perished on the spot. He’d cleaned himself up and gotten ready and yes, he’d fallen flat on his face, but … He hadn’t drowned.

He isn’t going to drown now.

Todd pushes the flush on the toilet and washes his hands to fake an end to his stay in the bathroom – and then, before he has time to overthink, he forces himself abruptly out of the bathroom door and announces to the room at large:

“The flowers are for you, actually.”

Dirk and Panto are halfway through eating their stir-fry and bickering; they both look up when Todd fairly bursts back into the room. They exchange a glance.

“For me, or …?” Panto points his bamboo fork at Dirk.

Right, he hadn’t actually made that very clear.

Todd meets Dirk’s eyes. “The flowers are for you.”

Dirk drops his fork with noodles still hanging off it.

Todd shoots an apologetic glance at Panto. “I’m – really sorry, I didn’t know how to … I mean, I’m grateful! For the haircut, if you still – if you’re still cool with giving me one. And I can pay you …”

Panto waves this away. He seems to be suppressing a grin; he reaches around to the counter next to him and grabs the daffodils in the glass bottle. He hands the bottle to Todd, who takes it and pulls the flowers out, thankful that the wrapping is still intact.

“I got them for you,” he says, offering Dirk the daffodils.

Dirk’s eyes are wider than the fucking Sargasso Sea. His mouth is opening and closing repeatedly, and as he stares down at the flowers, a blush that perfectly matches the pink cellophane appears on his cheeks.

“Why?”

Todd is so taken aback by the question, and by the genuine, if very delighted confusion on Dirk’s face, that he nearly responds with the truth. But some truths are too embarrassing to admit to, and _‘because I thought we were about to go on the date I’ve been longing to have with you for like, months’_ is one of them. Todd doesn’t want to lie though, so he settles on something else that’s also true.

“Because you’re kind to me. All the time. And … and you deserve flowers.”

Dirk takes the flowers slowly, as if he expects Todd to snatch them back at any moment. He still looks stunned. “… Thank you.”

Todd smiles, and Dirk, gazing up at him from his chair, goes soft. It’s a look that turns Todd’s heart inside-out. Then Panto clears his throat, and Dirk jolts out of it.

“Ah, yes! I’ll – I’ll put them in water right away, um – er …” Dirk looks around himself wildly, sees the bottle still in Todd’s hand, and grabs it. He stuffs the flowers back into it, but Todd doesn’t mind this time – in fact, he starts to laugh.

Dirk waves a hand at him, “Shush, you. It’s best I can do on short notice.” He smiles, and he’s beautiful. “I promise I’ll give them pride of place at home. I’ll put them by the window in the sun – or next to my bed, and then I can see them first thing in the morning, or maybe in the kitchen …”

Todd just laughs, because Dirk is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen – and the most ridiculous.

Panto stands and pulls a clean black apron down from a hook on the wall. “Well, now that we have that particular piece of to-do sorted. Gentlemen. About this haircut. Are we thinking short back and sides?”

And that’s how Todd ends up getting his hair cut by Dirk’s manager in the back of the store after-hours. Todd would still rather be on a date with Dirk – but this isn’t bad either. Panto turns out to be just as good with a pair of scissors as Dirk promised and he refuses any payment but for the promise that Todd will keep coming back to the store – because, as Panto claims, Dirk is insufferable if Todd stays away for too long.

Dirk himself is too addictive a presence for Todd to not enjoy being around him, even if he’d much rather they were alone. While Todd’s hair is trimmed down into a respectable and actually pretty fashionable shape, Dirk buzzes about the room like a bee, prattling happily about _Queer Eye_ and quizzing Todd about his favorite episode, favorite house makeover, and favorite client. When Todd admits that Farah is his favorite, Dirk flaps his hands with excitement. He launches into a twenty-minute spiel on the subject of why Farah would make an excellent best friend and just how deeply Dirk believes that she deserves the world. Todd just smiles and laughs, and agrees with Dirk – and glows quietly within himself when he sees Dirk out of the corner of his eye, gently stroking the petals of the daffodils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the latter half of this chapter Todd (who is v bewildered at the time) mistakenly thinks Dirk is asking him out on a date. It's likely obvious to the reader that Dirk is actually just talking about getting Panto to give Todd a free haircut. Cringe doesn't last for very long, (a few paragraphs), ends with Todd (who sequesters himself in the backroom bathroom in a panic once he realises his mistake), overhearing something nice and feeling braver and more hopeful. Scene ends on a positive note. Not really sure if I should even be content warning for it, but I know at least one person who has genuine anxiety triggers about stuff like that. ///end cw
> 
> \- Lavender is meant to be 'calming,' and/or have soporific qualities, hence Dirk tending to choose it for Todd. He just wants him to fucking rest.  
> \- Thanks to reptilianraven/actualbird for reminding me w one of their tweets that Todd has toy dinos and marbles in his flat!
> 
> Just wanted to say thank you so much for the overwhelmingly lovely response to the last chapter. I'm really glad/relieved/happy you guys seemed to enjoy it!


	8. Right Here Beside Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Todd flirts back, and Dirk nearly dies on impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another 10k chapter, so be careful not to hyperfocus if you're the kind of person prone to hyperfocusing!

After the daffodil incident, things are … different. Todd can’t really tell if Dirk knows the full significance of the flowers. He’s sure that Dirk hasn’t extrapolated that they were meant to be date flowers. But Dirk is different around him. More nervous. More fluttery. Which makes Todd feel nervous and fluttery, but also determined not to lose the little piece of ground he’s gained.

Spending two whole hours with Dirk, getting to talk to him without worrying about getting in the way of other customers, just chatting to him like normal and without being even a little bound by the respective roles of employee and customer – it was … amazing. Yes, Panto had been hovering around like a gay chaperone, and at one point Dirk had been so insistent that Todd eat that he’d tried to feed Todd noodles in the middle of the haircut, but it was still amazing. And Todd had survived the entire thing without drowning once.

And now – just as he found the first time he got to talk to Dirk properly – Todd desperately wants it again. He wants more. He wants _Dirk_ – that’s the decision he’s made, and making that decision has been the first stomach-dropping, foot-dragging step.

But if he wants Dirk, he has to let Dirk know that. And that means combining his continued efforts to not be human garbage with the resolution to properly return Dirk’s attentions, whether or not that will lead to heartbreak for Todd. Probably heartbreak. Almost definitely. But the thought of having Dirk in his life for even a short time, in anything resembling a … romantic capacity – that’s one hell of a Holy Grail.

It’s about time that Todd made an effort in regard to flirting back.

Thing is, Todd’s never been any good at flirting. It’s a problem that comes with the baggage of being a repressed loser. Back in the day, when he liked someone he would just stare at them from a safe distance and then go home to write angsty, shitty songs about the ordeal. He’s always struggled to express outright, sincere admiration for someone he _really_ likes unless it’s startled out of him. Which means that every time he flirts – properly flirts – it comes out of him like water out of a haphazardly bursting faucet.

Dirk deserves better than that. Dirk deserves flirting that will make him happy, make him feel seen and wanted and maybe a bit hot. Todd has no idea how he’s going to measure up. His Google search history begins to spin out of control again; ‘ _how to flirt_ ,’ ‘ _flirting ideas_ ,’ ‘ _asexual flirting_ ,’ ‘ _gay flirting_ ,’ ‘ _flirting with a guy when you’re a guy_ ,’ ‘ _guy and guy asexual flirting consensual_ ,’ ‘ _how to flirt asexual safe_.’ There’s not really anything on specifically asexual flirting, so maybe Todd’s just being weird about that. Wryly, in the back of his mind, he’s aware that he’s probably overthinking this. But he wants so badly to do this right. He wants to make Dirk feel just how Dirk makes him feel. God, Todd wants that more than anything.

There are few things he’s able to take away from his extensive Googling. Most of them seem to boil down to ‘ _be nice, but extra nice_.’ Smile; easy enough, when he’s around Dirk, Todd smiles a probably stupid amount. Touch; also easy, he constantly wants to touch Dirk. Laugh at his jokes; Dirk is – as he himself once claimed – very charming and witty. Todd would put it more as _annoyingly_ charming and _infuriatingly_ witty, but still, laughing at Dirk’s jokes isn’t going to be an issue.

Most of these things are just … things Todd has been forcibly stopping himself from doing for five months. So surely, just – letting himself do them, that should be fine.

But he still can’t. Something’s off. Todd shows up to the bath store and he picks up Amanda’s latest stuff and he talks to Dirk for as long as possible every single time. He asks Dirk about the latest thing he read on Jonathan’s Twitter, and he listens to Dirk talk at length about the time with the horse, or the time with the unfinished fish, or the time with the buff Scandinavian dude (Todd _may_ have left early that day, because he _may_ have gotten a bit jealous about how much Dirk talked about the buff Scandinavian dude). Still, Todd just can’t get himself do something as simple as consciously maintain eye contact with Dirk while smiling.

Todd’s done it before, he knows he has. He’s painfully aware that he’s stared at Dirk with a vacant smile on his face for socially unacceptable lengths of time. He just can’t do it on purpose. He freezes up. He stares at the floor. He mumbles something about groceries and he leaves. He goes back to his car and feels his heart ache with the worry that he’s going to run out of chances.

Two weeks later Todd hits upon the crux of it. It’s not just that he’s nervous, it’s that he still doesn’t feel ready. Sure, he’s ready in some ways, more than ready – progressing towards fed up. But in terms of feeling prepared, feeling …

It has to be _perfect_. He has to get this _right_.

His apartment looks way better, but it’s still a fixer-upper, and _Todd_ is still a fixer-upper too. Flirting with Dirk is a terrifying enough prospect; flirting with Dirk when Todd mostly only sees him right after a shift at the hotel, when Todd’s all clammy and red and still in his uniform – that’s just horrifying. The few times Todd has come in out of uniform, he’s been in his normal clothes, which are only narrowly better.

Todd’s entire wardrobe is at least six years old, most of it over ten, and none of it was ever really meant to last longer than five. He still wears the old, cheap band t-shirts he bought in his late teens and the flannels covered in pilling. His best pair of jeans weren’t great quality to begin with and are now falling apart. His most functional pair of shoes are his work shoes.

He’s been putting off buying any new clothes, even though he’s saved enough to be able to afford a few things. Partially, this is because he has no idea what kind of clothes he’d buy for himself now. Mostly though, Todd hasn’t bought new clothes because buying clothes is a luxury, and he doesn’t deserve luxuries, and any money he’s managed to set aside needs to be saved for Amanda. Or, you know, hiring a bodyguard for when his landlord inevitably snaps and tries to murder him.

But now he’s stuck between the rock of ‘ _I don’t deserve new clothes_ ,’ and the hard place of ‘ _Dirk deserves nice flirting, and my clothes are so fucking awful that I don’t even feel up to the task_.’ The crossroads of circular logic have … always been problematic for Todd.

He thinks it through one Sunday night, as he lies slumped on his couch, his fingers plucking absently at his guitar strings.

In argument against buying new clothes, the following: _Todd doesn’t deserve luxuries, his current clothes are still enough in one piece that they stick to his pasty little body and screen his privates, he should keep the money for an emergency with Amanda_.

In favor of buying new clothes: _Todd has enough set aside to buy a few things and still have a sturdy emergency fund, having a few decent clothes would really help him screw his courage to the sticking place, and Dirk deserves to have a flirting partner who doesn’t look they just rolled out of a bed filled with oily things and sharp objects_.

And maybe, if Todd’s clothes make him this fucking unhappy, if he’s put in all the effort to try to fix everything else about himself, if every time he pulls on one of his old shirts he feels like he’s pulling on a skin that doesn’t fit him anymore – maybe the world won’t end if Todd just buys himself three new shirts, a pair of jeans, and some shoes that don’t look like leather clogs.

And what would Karamo say? What would Tan say? What would Dirk say?

Todd knows what Amanda would say. Letting yourself own clothes that make you feel like a human being, and thereby sticking it to the establishment that says poor people aren’t human – that’s punk.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday afternoon finds Todd sitting in his car in the parking lot, fussing over his hair in the wing mirror. His shift had ended early enough for him to go home, freshen up, and change, and the last part had taken so long that he’s now left with only forty-five minutes or so before the store closes. He won’t be able to talk to Dirk for long – but maybe that’s a good thing, because right now Todd feels so nervous he might just throw up when he walks in the door.

And he’s still not sure about the outfit he’s chosen. He’s done his best, and he’s at least fairly certain it doesn’t look completely awful. It’s just _different_ , really different to the stuff he used to wear. The jacket is mostly white, for one thing, _and_ it also has color on it – two stripes of red and blue running down each sleeve. The shirt is striped too, thin black stripes on white. It’s all second-hand, of course, right down to the knock-off All Stars’, but it’s all in good condition, and he was lucky enough to find a pretty good pair of mid-wash jeans at the thrift shop. A small part of him still feels stupid for getting so wound up about clothes, but he can’t deny that he feels better in this stuff. Like he can at least put on a decent show of not being a total disaster.

And it all feels closer to … _Todd_. The new Todd, or maybe just the new version of the old Todd. A version of him that hasn’t completely stagnated in the murky waters of his early twenties. He’s pulled out just about every trick he’s garnered from nearly two seasons’ worth of _Queer Eye_. He’s picked out clothes that fit properly, that are likely to age well both in terms of quality and style. He’s clean, he’s put stuff in his hair to give it some texture, he’s just put fresh deodorant on. Decision, made; effort, put in. Now it’s time to put it into action.

Todd finds that the only way to get himself moving is to carefully _not think_ about what he’s doing at all. He very successfully does that all the way out of the car, into the mall, and through the food court towards the bath store. It’s only when he actually walks into the store and sees Dirk across the room, engrossed in a bubble bar demo and surrounded by a small crowd, that all of Todd’s anxieties catch up with him in one fell swoop.

Todd stops just inside the door, pressing himself to the soap shelves on one side and wishing he could melt into them.

Oh Jesus. What is he _doing_? He looks way too different. Dirk’s going to know that Todd went home just to clean up, he’s going to know that Todd is trying impress him. But oh _god_ – what if Dirk doesn’t? What if he doesn’t even notice anything’s changed? What if Todd still looks like a boiled lobster, only now he happens to be a boiled lobster in a bomber jacket that comes off as wannabe-Karamo jacket and –

Dirk’s looking at him. Fuck.

There’s a moment. Dirk stops halfway into blowing a bubble through the bright green hoop bar he’s demo-ing, and his mouth goes slack. His jaw drops – and then so does the bubble bar, right into the soapy metal bowl on the stand in front of him.

Minor chaos breaks out; a couple of teens next to Dirk squeal as they’re splattered with sudsy water, and the rest of the crowd laughs and edges back. Some of them look around, following Dirk’s line of sight, but don’t seem to find anything noteworthy. Dirk himself is apologizing profusely and trying to get the bubble hoop bar back out of the water bowl.

_Shit. Is that a good reaction? Was that at me, even?_

Todd twists around just to check there’s not something deeply alarming standing behind him, like a rhinoceros. When he turns back, something new happens – Todd catches Dirk looking at _him_ , rather than the other way around. Dirk quickly looks back down at the soapy hoop bar and begins to stammer out the rest of his demonstration speech, but Todd’s heart has already started hammering wildly in his chest.

There’s a pink flush to Dirk’s neck and cheeks. It only grows as he continues the demo, and the store is too packed with people and pop music for Todd to hear him properly, but Dirk’s clearly talking at top Dirk-speed. He waves the hoop stick around so erratically that he flicks water onto a few more customers. He seems to be keeping his eyes fixed with utter determination on his own hands, but eventually he does glance up, as if to check that Todd is still there.

His eyes flick up and down Todd’s body – and Dirk’s blush deepens. A smile appears in the corner of his mouth.

_He checked me out. Dirk_ actually  _checked me out._

There are a thousand little voices inside Todd, and all of them are punching the air.

_Making an effort – fucking worth it._

Todd approaches the stand as Dirk wraps up and the crowd begins to dissipate. The feeling in his chest is so unfamiliar that it takes him a minute to recognize it as something, however faintly, approaching … self-assurance.

_Dirk thinks you’re a cute boy_ , he tells himself. _He’s not sick at the sight of you. Now smile._

Todd smiles as he reaches Dirk. “Everything okay?”

Dirk refuses to look at him, but he lets out a nervous giggle. “Hah, I – everything is … Everything is fine! Dandy! Just – lovely. Beautiful. Really hot – I’m hot, it’s very hot in here. Hot as in overheated. I – I should cool off.” He shoves both his hands into the bowl of water, which is deep enough to cover him nearly to the elbows.

“Isn’t the demo water usually hot?”

Dirk, who has tensed up into a forced grimace-smile, nods. “Mhmm. Yes. Rather.”

“Yeah, okay,” Todd leans forward and gently pulls Dirk’s arms out of the hot water. Dirk jolts when Todd’s hands first make contact with his skin, then simply allows Todd to maneuver him out of the bowl like a limp and befuddled Muppet.

Todd shoots him another smile, and actually manages to meet Dirk’s eyes while he does it. He hopes he’s not just staring like a weirdo, maintaining eye contact like this, he hopes he isn’t being Creeper Eyes – but Dirk is staring back at him with a slightly dazed expression. It gives Todd another momentary surge of confidence, which he uses to pull at the black dishcloth which Dirk keeps tucked into the front of his apron waistband during demos.

Todd’s heart is still hammering though, so hard that he can almost feel it in his fingertips as he uses the dishcloth to dry Dirk’s arm. He can hear Dirk breathing in and out, measured and careful.

Todd glances up at him. “Sure you’re okay?”

Dirk does another burst of quick little nods. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay. I am …”

Todd finishes with Dirk’s left arm and starts on his right. It’s possible he slows down, trying to buy time, because god, touching Dirk is –

“… Wonderful,” Dirk breathes.

Soon Todd is just drying an already dry palm, but he really doesn’t want to stop, and Dirk isn’t pulling away. Todd can feel Dirk’s pulse beating underneath his fingers where they’re wrapped around Dirk’s wrist. Todd lingers as long he can push it.

“You’re really good at that,” Todd tells him, feeling another smile pull at his mouth. See, smiling around Dirk – easy. He can’t get himself to look at Dirk, but Dirk’s fingers are definitely nice enough to look at.

Dirk takes a long moment to answer. “The – the demo, you mean?”

“Mhmm.” Todd slips the cloth between Dirk’s long fingers, gently stroking each one dry.

Dirk’s breath hitches very softly. Todd feels his own stomach twist into warmth.

“Oh, I’m – I’m not really _that_ good, I’ve just done it a lot,” Dirk begins to chatter, “and even that’s not enough to save me; I think my brain moves a little too fast for my body, or perhaps it’s my body that moves too fast for my brain – either way I really can be a dreadful klutz and as you just saw, I do have a tendency to royally bugger things up on occasion –”

Dirk’s ramble ends in a squeak when Todd tucks the dishcloth back into his waistband.

“You do …” Todd grins, looking up at him. “You do drop things a lot.”

Dirk titters, his eyes fixed nervously on Todd’s face. “I was hoping you wouldn’t have noticed that.” He twists his now-dry hands together, flicking the ends of his fingers as if they’re tingling.

“Hey,” Todd says, more softly this time, “Sure you’re okay?”

Dirk bobs his head, “Yes, yes! Perfectly fine! Just …” He glances at the small crowd of people that have now spread around the store. “Sometimes, it gets … There’s a lot of – of stuff,  and things, and people, sometimes, and I have to _focus_ to process it all at once and do what I’m doing, and then you …” Dirk trails off. He’s looking at Todd strangely – almost as if he’s struggling to take it all in at once. “You ought to be more careful, sir.”

Todd nearly asks what he’s supposed to be careful about, before he catches the shy, admiring light in Dirk’s eyes and feels another twist in his stomach.

_‘How can I make it up to you_ ,’ prods one of the voices in his head, _Ask him! Flirt! ‘How can I make it up to you?’_

“How can I help?” Todd asks instead, and probably with way too much quiet sincerity.

_No! Nerd!_ cries another voice, one that sounds a lot like Amanda.

Dirk, on the other hand, blushes anew, as if Todd has just hit him with a pick-up line slicker than oil. “Oh! Oh, no – it’s fine, really. I don’t need help.”

“I thought your whole thing was that everyone needs help,” Todd teases him.

Dirk just keeps staring at him. He stares at him for so long that Todd’s about to ask if he’s got something on his face, but Dirk seems to tune back into reality very suddenly, because he blurts, “Help! Yes. I suppose … Panto’s on break and I haven’t had a chance to finish moving some of the, erm … the thing – the thingy …” He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it. “Love hearts. Fruit. Bears – Valentine’s Day! The new stock. The new stock for Valentine’s Day. Yes. Yes – sir, you could help me move that, that would be very nice if you’d just … follow me, thank you, yes.”

Dirk jolts into movement and starts speed-walking towards the store counter. Todd follows him, trying to stop himself from overanalyzing every little micro-reaction.

Behind the counter is a collection of boxes, all opened at the top and filled with various bath products. Todd half-expects Dirk to start bossing him around, or perhaps wrangle some way to make an innuendo out of the peach-shaped bath bombs peeking out of one package, but Dirk hovers over the boxes as if he can’t quite decide whether to pick one up or not.

“These are … yes. I’ll take …”

Dirk lunges down and scoops up three boxes, but is a bit overzealous. Todd manages to catch the other side of the boxes and steady Dirk when he nearly sends the lot crashing to the floor.

“Ah – yes, thank – that was. Um.” Half of Dirk’s face, pink once again, is peering around the side of the boxes at him. “Hello.”

Todd grins, “Hi.”

Dirk’s face turns pinker and disappears again. Together they shuffle the boxes towards the main display. Dirk is quiet at first, but not for long – soon his face reappears around the other side of their load.

“I – you’re …” He looks less flustered now, if still a bit pink; he’s eased into a smile that’s slightly too teasing to be completely innocent. “You _are_ good at assisting, aren’t you? You really are a gift.”

Todd already knows that smile, so he’s prepared for the flirting that comes right after it, which means he’s ready to shrug and reply, “Takes one to know one.”

He’s not quite ready to take most of the weight of the boxes when Dirk stumbles. Todd nearly trips backwards trying to regain their balance, and ends up taking the full weight of the boxes when Dirk loses his grip on his end. For a long moment Todd’s standing there, probably looking weird and red-faced as he holds up all three boxes on his own, and Dirk – Dirk is just goggling at him again.

“Um …?”

“Right! Yes, sorry, sorry!” Dirk grabs his end again. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t … You’re stronger than I –” The sentence cuts off abruptly, followed by a noise that sounds like Dirk smushing his own face into his side of the boxes and going, “ _eerp_.”

“It’s the hotel,” Todd says, unsure how to interpret that noise. “I spend a lot of the week carrying stuff around – are you okay?”

Dirk makes another squashed, ambivalent noise.

They get the boxes to the display in one piece, and Todd continues to help Dirk unpack them into the empty crates waiting there, while Dirk continues to blush profusely. However small and probably pitiful it might be in the grand scheme of flirtations, Todd feels slightly light-headed with his own success so far. It’s not at all a feeling he’s accustomed to, so he’s determined to enjoy it for as long as possible. Perhaps that’s why it takes a minute or so of Dirk unpacking bath bombs with bright-pink determination for Todd to work out that Dirk is embarrassed.

Todd pauses as he finishes loaded up one of the crates. “Hey, you know that –”

“I’m sorry,” Dirk says again, “I was … just sort of taken aback. I _am_ sort of taken – I mean. That’s not to say you weren’t … Oh, bloody hell.” He pulls at his teal-and-black striped headwrap fretfully. “I … what can I say? I’m just a happy-go-lucky little fool who drops things, talks a great deal about very little, and is constantly trying to reach for heights that are almost definitely laughably out of his league – do you know my foster father used to call me Icarus?”

Todd would be lying if he said he wasn’t lost. It’s difficult not to be when Dirk gets like this. Like he’s in a car trying to race through as much of the English language as physically possible, but instead of taking the freeway he decides to take various country backroads with lots of very sharp and sudden turns.

“I-Icarus? The guy with the wings, right?”

“It was because when I was nine, I told him that when I grew up I wanted to marry the Sun,” Dirk says, still so fast he’s almost tripping over his own words in his attempt to break the verbal speed of light. He’s loading up the bath crate in front of him with golden bath melts quicker than Todd can point out that that’s the avocado bath bomb crate. “That’s silly – kids say a lot of silly things, don’t they? But apparently I had a heightened tendency to come out with stupid flighty bullshit. I still do, actually.”

“What? No, hey,” Todd frowns. “You don’t – I, I mean you sort of do, but …” On impulse, he grabs Dirk’s hand, halting his frenzied impersonation of a bath-bomb conveyor belt. “You’re not stupid, or clumsy, or whatever you’re trying to say about yourself. Don’t … You shouldn’t think that.”

Dirk has gone still, staring down at Todd’s hand on his. Usually, that would make Todd withdraw his hand self-consciously, but he’s preoccupied. Dirk … Todd’s never consciously noticed it before, but Dirk can be kind of down on himself, underneath all the big smiles and blithe charm. Suddenly, he wonders if Dirk – for all he preaches self-care and self-love – might secretly have his weak points too.

Yeah, no way is Todd letting that shit fly.

“Listen,” he says, gripping Dirk’s hand, “you’re smart. You’re … really smart. You know about – baths. And … lotion, and stuff.”

Jesus, he sounds like a fifteen-year-old reading a smudged list of ‘compliments’ off his palm.

Dirk doesn’t look convinced either. He shrugs one shoulder in a non-plussed sort of way, wincing, “I’m … not, really? I … I have good instincts, or not good, perhaps – but I have instincts, and I frequently manage to ‘luck out,’ as it’s colloquially termed, but –”

“No, screw that,” Todd snaps, “you’re good at your job. Do you think I’d have kept coming back here if it wasn’t for you? I work in customer service, okay, I know how shit it is – but you never let that drag on you. You’re always smiling when I come in.”

Dirk is turning pink again. “Well, actually, that’s really more –”

“And you’ve never picked out something that Amanda didn’t like. I know you say I help with that, and maybe I do, but right from the start you got it all right. And you made my sister really happy, and like – I know I probably come off as this cold, grumpy asshole, but I’m – I’m really grateful for that. And I …” Todd forces it out, “I _always_ look forward to coming back here.”

He feels naked after saying that. His palm is probably really sweaty on Dirk’s hand now. Dirk, yet again, is just … staring at him. This time Todd can’t fathom his expression at all.

Then Dirk says, “Have you ever seen _Parks and Recreation_?”

“I …” Todd pulls his hand back. “ _Parks and Recreation_?”

“I was watching it last night – well, not last night, two nights ago, or maybe three – anyway, I was watching _Parks and Rec_ , and there’s this episode where …” Dirk pauses. “Do you have a solid-ish idea, through cultural osmosis at least, who the main cast members of _Parks and Recreation_ are?”

“Um … yeah, mostly, but –”

“Okay, so – you know the episode where Ben and Leslie, as portrayed by the actors Joe Keerey and Tina Fey –”

“Okay, I’m pretty sure those aren’t the actors who –”

Dirk gives him a condescending look. “Uh, I’m pretty sure they are, sir, I _have_ watched four seasons of it.”

“But Tina Fey –”

“It doesn’t matter; Ben says to –”

“If it doesn’t matter then why did you …”

Dirk cuts over him, “Ben says to Leslie: ‘sometimes when you’re mad you’re like the Sun.’”

Todd, more thrown than ever, waits for Dirk to elaborate. He doesn’t. He just looks at Todd with pointedly raised eyebrows, as if he’s sure Todd’s going to work it out at any moment. When Todd fails to, Dirk falters.

“Or … or something to that effect, anyway? I …” He’s beginning to look oddly desperate. “You’re not … You’re a _warm_ person, sir.”

Todd scoffs at that, “I’m not.”

“No, you are. And hot … tempered,” Dirk says slowly, as if he’s afraid the sentence is going to blow up in his face before he can get it out. “And I think … I mean, for me, anyway … You’re like … You’re just like …” Frustration flickers in his eyes, he shifts on the spot. “Do you really have no idea at all?”

“Uh …” Todd doesn’t even know what it is he’s meant to have some idea of.

Dirk sighs, then says in apparent defeat, “Well, I really wish you wouldn’t call yourself a grumpy asshole. You’re not like that.”

Now Todd doesn’t even know how he feels. The warring voices in his head can’t even process what Dirk’s just said.

“I mean …” he replies, “ _I_ wish you wouldn’t call yourself a … fool, or whatever. You’re not like that either.”

Todd, by now, is so used to seeing an infinite variety of ‘little bastard’ expressions on Dirk’s face. The look Dirk wears now is something altogether different. It’s contradictory; furrowed brows, lips quirked into an almost-smile, eyes huge and wistful. It’s the look of someone both confused and entranced by what’s standing in front of them.

Todd is torn between wanting to bathe in that look forever, and feeling stripped completely bare by it. It’s too much to take in at once; he feels almost a sense of second-hand embarrassment mixed with envy mixed with wondering admiration that Dirk can even display that much emotion on his face. And to have it all directed at him …

Todd has to look away before he does something stupid. The moment passes as soon as Todd breaks from Dirk’s gaze, but it doesn’t feel like something slipping away – more like something settling softly, sinking in like a setting sun. Todd smiles, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Dirk smiling too.

_God, I want to kiss him._

Kissing him isn’t exactly a real option right now though, so instead Todd lets his eyes fall on the crate of bath bombs in front of him, and something else suggests itself.

“What do you think of this?” He picks up one of the peach bath bombs. It’s blushed with a warm pink gradient reminiscent of the color in Dirk’s cheeks. It smells just like real peaches, all summertime and sweetness.

Dirk looks between Todd and the bath bomb, clearly feeling thrown again by the sudden topic change. “Er … yes. Yes, it’s –”

“It reminds me of you.”

“Of me?” Dirk says faintly, his eyes on Todd’s smile. He looks like he might still be trying to recover from Todd’s earlier attempts at flirtation.

_Shoe’s on the other foot, motherfucker,_ Todd thinks, completely without vengeance.

He’s also undeniably relieved, though – because Dirk being so obviously moved is the only thing that can give Todd the confidence to get out the cheesy fucking thing he’s about to say.

“Yeah. Sweet. Cute. Smells amazing. And it’s a peach.” Todd smiles at Dirk, meeting his eyes as bravely as he can. “It’s just like you.”

Dirk’s reaction is truly phenomenal. His eyes expand as if inflating. He draws his head back like a cat trying to get out of a tissue box, blinks rapidly, and then bursts into a volley of high-pitched, breathy laughter.

The laughter goes on for so long, and Dirk continues to stare at Todd the entire time, as if Todd’s holding him at gunpoint. Todd’s little scrap of confidence begins to evaporate very quickly.

_Shit. Okay._

_He’s laughing at you._

_No, he’s not – I just made him nervous. I’m – I’m pretty sure I just made him nervous._

_Or maybe that was a completely cringey thing to say._

_No_ , he tries to tell the nasty voice, _nope – shut up, stop talking …_

_And now he can’t hide that he’s laughing at you._

Dirk clamps his lips together and stops laughing just as abruptly as he started. His eyes are still wide though, until he screws them shut and pushes his face into his hands. He groans something, but Todd can’t make out what it is, except that it sounds like it involves numerous swearwords.

Todd is at a loss as to how to decode any of it.

Dirk peeks out between his fingers, and even while Todd’s chest is all clenched up with nerves, something inside him softens at the sight.

“Sir, I …” Dirk pulls his hands away from his face, jerkily, as if he really doesn’t want to. He starts fidgeting wildly instead, hooking one finger over the other in what verges on contortion. “I – listen …”

Todd listens, wracked with anxiety.

Dirk fails to say anything. He shuts his mouth, opens it again, “Would … I’m _so_ sorry, I’m _actually_ a freak –”

“No, you’re not,” Todd says sharply, because even though he’s completely lost and nearly terrified, he knows Dirk isn’t a freak.

That just seems to put Dirk into further disarray. “Oh. I …” He pulls at his own fingers, pinching the skin over his knuckles. He takes in a huge breath of air, as if about to dive underwater, “Sir. Would you …? Would – would you …? Mabe-goahngecoff-wimee.”

Todd has never heard a keysmash in real life before. “S-sorry?”

Dirk is horrified. “Would you – would you excuse me for one moment?”

“What?”

Dirk looks about feverishly, then snatches the peach bath bomb out of Todd’s hand. “I have to go – do a thing with this thing right now immediately. Panto said so.”

“Panto’s not …” Todd tries to say, but Dirk cuts him off.

“Bee-Ar-Bee!”

Before Todd can even decipher that that’s meant to mean ‘BRB,’ Dirk has bolted away with the speed and grace of a wounded gazelle. He disappears into the backroom behind the counter.

_Okay, that can’t be good._

_Fuck. Shit. Fuck-shit-fuck._

He glances around at the other customers, but there’s only a couple around, and thankfully none of them seem to have been looking. No one saw him just absolutely fucking faceplant into his own arrogance like that.

_No, don’t drown_ , Todd tells himself. He clenches his fists, resisting the urge to shrink behind the display crates and hide in horrible embarrassment. _Don’t drown. It’s okay. Maybe just a misunderstanding._

It’s got to be a misunderstanding. Dirk’s been flirting with him for months, hasn’t he? He seemed to like it at first – even if Todd got more direct and cheesy about it with that line. But Dirk’s been direct and cheesy since Todd met him – so that’s got to be fine, right?

Remembering the uniquely petrified look on Dirk’s face, Todd worries that it’s not fine. Maybe he’s fucked up again. Maybe there’s been some kind of crossed wire, or maybe the stupid ‘peach’ thing came off weird – maybe Dirk misheard him? That’s got to be it.

Todd forces himself to stand, makes his way to the counter, and steels himself for when Dirk reappears, because he has to reappear at some point. He can do this. He won’t drown. He’ll just apologize to Dirk and clear things up.

That’s Todd’s plan anyway, even if it is a vague one – but it’s kicked soundly in the balls by Dirk emerging out of the backroom with surprising swiftness. As soon as they make eye contact, Todd feels the apology in his mouth curl up and die – because Dirk’s eyes are sharp, determined. Focused. There’s something hungry in them that makes Todd’s stomach flip over and fixes him to the spot and – oh god, Dirk is marching out from behind the counter and grabbing him by the arm.

Todd feels like the rug just got pulled out under his feet, and he’s looked down to see blue sky below him for miles and miles. Dirk pulls him over to the side of the store, as far away as possible from where the few other lingering customers, and obscured from their view by the central display in the middle of the store.

“Um … listen, I …” is all Todd manages to get out before he catches sight of Dirk’s face and falls silent.

Dirk’s chased him up close to the shower section, and there’s a sink at Todd’s back. He knows this because he bumps up against it when he tries to edge back from the force of Dirk’s smile.

It’s the most dangerous smile he’s ever seen on Dirk’s face. It’s sweet and lovely and completely fucking insufferable; all Dirk things, times about a thousand. Todd’s never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

“Ready to strip down?”

Todd chokes.

Dirk gestures smoothly to the products on the shelf above Todd’s head. “That’s the motto for this section. Naked.”

Todd fumbles for words. “What …”

“The products,” Dirk clarifies. “We don’t package them.”

Todd tries to consciously stabilize his own blood pressure. He narrows his eyes at Dirk.

_You … fucker_.

Dirk is full of faux-innocence as he asks, “Have you tried anything naked?”

“Yes, actually,” replies Todd defiantly.

As he anticipated, this throws Dirk off. He looks suddenly nervous again. “O-oh. Yes?”

“Last night. One of the blue ones,” Todd says softly. “It was the third one you ever gave me.”

“Y-you remember the order I –”

“Yeah, I do. Thing is …” Todd gathers up his courage once more. “I can’t remember what it’s called. Can you figure it out?”

He can see Dirk struggling to regain his composure. He looks like the dictionary definition of flustered, and when Todd thinks that that’s because of him, god – he feels his chest fill with warmth.

“How …” Dirk straightens himself up as if trying to re-focus, “How would I do that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the bathing goods psychic?” Todd smiles.

“I’m not _actually_ psychic, sir, I’m just –”

“But you could always …” Todd swallows. “You could check.”

Dirk’s eyes flicker over Todd’s face, down and up again. “How?”

Slowly, as if the air he’s reaching through is the thick air of a hot sauna, Todd puts a hand out and grasps the front of Dirk’s shirt. He tugs, and Dirk stumbles forwards into him, his hands landing either of Todd, on the edge of the sink behind him.

Dirk’s face is turned, his lips are just barely touching the edge of Todd’s ear, and Todd’s stomach curls with satisfied heat. For a moment he shuts his eyes and lets himself listen to Dirk’s unsteady breaths, warm on Todd’s skin; the gentle weight of Dirk pressed closer to him than he’s ever been before.

The hand Todd used to pull Dirk in is still between them. Todd flattens it against Dirk’s stomach and feels it tense and jump under his fingers.

“What do you think it is?” he asks.

Dirk breathes in shakily, and his voice is gloriously hoarse when he replies, “Blue Skies And Fluffy White Clouds.”

Emboldened by the roughness in Dirk’s voice, Todd begins to turn his head just slightly, just enough for his mouth to near Dirk’s jaw –

Somewhere outside, in the rest of the mall, a child yells – and Todd is recalled all at once to exactly where they are. In public.

Shame, hard-wired into him from every emotional hard-knock he’s ever received, floods back into Todd’s system. He freezes. He glances over at the other customers, at the open door only a few feet away. No one’s looking at them right now. But that doesn’t mean they can get away with this.

Dirk is still pressed against him, waiting for something, his hands clenched on the sink – Todd can feel the tension in Dirk’s arms, and Dirk’s breath is so unsteady and wonderful. Too wonderful. Todd feels more than dizzy; he feels like he’s falling through that forbidden blue sky, and anyone could look up at any moment and see him up there in the clouds, and the air is too thin, he’s not used to it – it’s making him more than light-headed. He has to slow his fall, and catch his breath.

Todd gently pushes Dirk back, and it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life – and that really is saying something. Todd doesn’t want to let go of Dirk’s shirt, but he does.

Dirk looks like he’s just been dragged backwards out of a really good dream. His eyes follow Todd’s hand as it releases his shirt and retreats back across the space that Todd has put between them once again.

_You’ve disappointed him._

More shame flows into Todd’s chest, this time of a different kind.

“Sorry, I’m not …” Todd tries for a smile. “We probably shouldn’t. We’re …”

At something in Todd’s expression, Dirk’s confusion gives way to understanding, “In public. I know.”

Todd already wants Dirk against him again.

“So what I’m taking away from this is, you’d rather not be in public?” Dirk sounds like he’s flirting, joking again, but the desperate edge is back in his voice.

Todd has to grip the edge of the sink to remind himself to stay put. “Yes.”

Dirk clearly didn’t expect that response at all. His face twists slightly, the desperation there breaking into what could almost be taken for outright need. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Todd’s never managed to stun Dirk into such a total silence before. He should probably be making the best of it, but Dirk … Dirk keeps looking at him like Todd is something he _wants_ , and that’s stunning Todd into silence in return.

He has to be imagining it. He’s got to just be looking for something that isn’t there, projecting all his desire onto Dirk.

_But what if I’m not_ , he wonders. _And if I asked him out … on a real date, not just hanging out, or Netflix and chill, would he maybe,_ possibly _, say yes?_

Todd takes a breath, and tries to find the perfect words. He can’t. His brain stalls. Where are the perfect words?

“Alright, now I know I’m never going to hear the end of this from you, but I really am sorry I’m so dreadfully late – Lizzie was having girl trouble again and you know what it’s like. Sibling duty. Oh, hello again, sir!”

It’s Panto. It’s … fucking _Panto_ , sweeping in from the door and heading straight for them.

Todd skitters sideways, trying to put more than a single foot between him and Dirk.

_If he’d come in a minute earlier,_ the nasty voice whispers, _he’d have caught you right in the middle of being about to kiss Dirk’s neck in the middle of the goddamn store. At four-thirty in the afternoon. On a_ Wednesday _._

Todd’s shame mode has gone into overdrive. Panto is talking, Dirk is silent but seems to be twitching his hands in odd motions, and Todd’s brain is yelling, ‘ _almost got caught being vulnerable, yikes, yikes, yikes_ ,’ on a really unhelpful repeat.

“Dirk, did you move those products?”

“ _Yes_ , Panto,” Dirk snaps.

Todd sharply tunes back in at Dirk’s tone – he’s never heard Dirk get angry before – but by the time he looks up Dirk has already deflated.

“Sorry. Yes, I did. Some of them. They’re …” Dirk gestures helplessly at the boxes by the center display. “I’ll … I’ll go get the others.”

He begins to make for the backroom, his shoulders bunched.

In the midst of his panic, the little voice in Todd’s head kicks him. _You’re losing him! Say something!_

But Panto is still standing right there, and Todd has never felt more frustrated by his presence. Why is Panto _always_ standing right there, god fucking dammit – Todd can’t make himself say anything. The embarrassment sirens in his head are still wailing.

It’s Panto who grabs Dirk by the arm as he passes him. “Dirk.”

“Yes, I know, don’t worry about it,” Dirk says, and he sounds so tired that Todd feels his own heart pang again. “It’s nearly closing time, anyway.”

“No, Dirk,” Panto says slowly, his eyes on the back of the store, “that queue at the counter. How long has that been there?”

Dirk jerks to attention, eyes wide. “Oh, shit.”

“ _Dirk_!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll be there in a moment!” Dirk calls to the counter, then turns hastily back to Panto, “It’s just a couple of people –”

The sentence ends in a very undignified squawk when Panto seizes Dirk by the sleeve and starts to forcibly usher him across the store. Todd backs further away from them both, still unable to make himself interject. The different voices in his head are bickering too loudly for him to think, and Panto and Dirk are adding to the din.

“I can’t believe you! You are _already_ on thin ice, young man!”

“I’m only four years younger than you!”

“Chronologically, yes. In terms of emotional maturity and the capacity to make logically sound decisions, you’ve already thoroughly demonstrated your _actual_ age of thirteen and three quarters.” Panto shakes his head, muttering, “You’re not having my new Netflix password for another month.”

“Ken gave me his,” Dirk says, mutinously.

“Oh, did he now? Well, I think you’ve forgotten a couple of pertinent details; namely that I give everyone in you and your sister’s social circles free haircuts, and Ken Adams is easily swayed by pragmatism.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, Dirk, as you so eloquently say, ‘shit.’” Panto gives him a final shove towards the counter. “Go serve those customers, _now_.”

Dirk is mumbling resentfully, but the moment he sidles around the counter he plasters a bright smile on his face. Todd is too far away to see properly, but it doesn’t seem to be reaching his eyes. Panto busies himself with picking up the remaining boxes behind the counter, and, alone again, Todd is left to try and calm his racing heart.

He tries to do exactly that. He tries very hard to look unaffected by what just happened. He forces himself to move, not just stand there in the shower section like a guilty teenager; he makes himself wander aimlessly around the edges of the store, picking up products and staring sightlessly at them so he at least looks like he’s not just … in the state that he is, bouncing around a pinball machine of emotion. He doesn’t know whether to leave, or stay and wait for Dirk to finish with the queue at the counter. He can’t stop thinking, he can’t stop feeling – his chest is still aching, his mouth is dry.

Todd _flirted_ with Dirk, actually properly flirted with him, and it felt like running a one-hundred-meter sprint after years of total inactivity. Todd had to stop, his legs were going to give out. And then there was the fact that they were barely hidden from the other customers, and _Panto nearly caught them too_. Todd knows that by now, Panto must know that Todd has a thing for Dirk – there are probably people living on the moon who have noticed that – but it’s the being _seen_ bit that makes Todd feel so panicky. It feels like he just nearly got caught naked in public.

And at the same time, that glorious-but-terrifying falling feeling is still rushing in his stomach. If Todd hadn’t needed to stop, if they hadn’t been in public, he knows he would have kissed Dirk. He would have finally broken.

And what would Dirk have done? Would Dirk have let Todd kiss him? Had he been waiting for it? Did he want that too?

Unless it was too much. What if Todd had gone too far with pulling Dirk up against him, what if he’d frightened him, or –

_Dirk didn’t look frightened though_ , he thinks, in a small moment of thrilling quiet in the midst of all his mixed feelings. _He didn’t look pressured or put off, or uncomfortable. God, he looked …_

_He sounded_ …

“Interested in that, are you?”

Todd starts out of his thoughts. He’s standing by the display crates now, and Panto is peering around them from the other side, regarding him with a stern expression. Todd looks down at the yellow bath bomb in his own hand – he must have picked it up at some point.

“Um.” He realizes he’s been standing there for some unknown period of time, staring stupidly at the bath bomb in his hand. He feels his dreamy elation begin to give way entirely to extreme discomfort.

“You should probably make your mind up, that’s all,” Panto says. He’s loading up one of the crates on the other side, but he keeps shooting strange little looks at Todd. All raised eyebrows and terse lips.

God, what is that supposed to –

“Take your time, of course, by all means,” says Panto, in exactly the sort of tone that suggests he’s fed up with Todd ‘taking his time.’ “But are you going to just play with it forever or do you have any plans to _buy_ it sometime soon?”

Well, shit. Todd almost laughs, he’s so taken aback. At first he thinks it’s just a coincidence, and Panto isn’t _seriously_ passive-aggressively accusing him of leading Dirk on – but then Panto produces a pair of scissors out of his apron-pocket. Gaze still locked on Todd, with eerie calm, he guts open one of the bath bomb packages on the floor next to him with one sharp, slicing movement.

“No, yeah, definitely,” he says hastily, “I was gonna … I like this one. Definitely. I – I  _really_ like it. Seriously. I swear.”

Just like that, Panto’s stony expression eases into one of his courtly smiles. “Do calm down, sir. It’s just a bath bomb.”

He says it in such a distinctly British way, absolutely doused in hidden meanings, and Todd can’t take anymore doublespeak about bath bombs. He has to make himself clear – and something about the Brit-ness of Panto, and his habit of berating Dirk in such an affectionate way, has made a new, awkward, and slightly horrifying idea suggest itself.

“Listen, I’m not trying to, like …” Christ, this is not a conversation Todd wants to have, but he did get himself into it. “I’m not messing with … I don’t know if he’s your little brother, or …”

Panto breaks into a hearty laugh, shutting that train of thought down immediately.

“He’s not my brother, though I can see why you might think that.” He leans around the crate display confidentially. “You know, not all English people are related.”

“Right, yeah, obviously.” Great, now Todd looks stupid as well as gutless.

“No, I got saddled with him when his sister used her baby blues on me to get him a job. A word of advice; if your fencing partner claims her brother is ' _a really hard worker_ ,' he’s probably an incorrigible flirt.”

“He’s good at his job,” Todd says, unable to keep the defensive edge out of his voice.

Panto’s eyes are both mysteriously evasive and uncomfortably perceptive. He’s almost smiling, though. “I know he is.”

Panto finishes with the bath bombs he’s arranging and heads over to the face-mask stand instead.

“Nearly closing time,” he remarks, as if on the weather, as he reaches to turn off some hidden mechanism in the stand – presumably one involved in draining the slushy, melted ice from the tray. “And that line’s building up. I’d get a move on if I were you.”

The line is indeed building up. A small rush of last-minute buyers are milling towards the counter, and the shop is getting noisier over the combined conversations of people weighing up the benefits of goat’s milk vs jojoba oil. It looks like any remaining chance of talking to Dirk is growing slim.

Todd does pause, though, awkwardly, at Panto’s back. “I – um. I didn’t mean to get him in trouble.”

“I think that was a lost cause from the first day you set foot in this store,” Panto replies without turning around, but Todd can hear a smile in his voice. “You’re just lucky I approve.”

_‘Approve?’_ echoes Todd’s brain.

Todd tries very, very hard to sound casual. “Oh. Yeah. I – thanks.”

_‘Thanks?’ What the fuck, ‘thanks?’_

“See you next week,” he says, and flees towards the counter. He swears he can hear Panto chuckling behind him.

As Todd joins the line, he once again tries very hard not to think about what he’s doing. He focuses on holding onto the bath bomb, and on not snapping at the people who accidentally jostle him in the middle of the queue. Todd does such a good job of focusing on those things and not what he _may_ be about to ask Dirk that when his turn comes, and he steps up to the counter, and Dirk’s smile goes from professional to genuine at the sight of him – Todd forgets how to speak entirely.

Dirk seems to suddenly remember what they were doing the last time they faced each other, because he drops his gaze, almost shy. “O-oh, hello – I thought …”

Todd must be hypnotized by the blush reappearing on Dirk’s cheeks, because he’s stupid enough to say, unguarded, “I wouldn’t just disappear without saying goodbye.”

Dirk’s mouth quirks slightly. “Promise?” he says, again with that slightly needy edge that suggests he’s not entirely joking.

Todd wants to tell Dirk _‘of course I wouldn’t, I would never do that, why would I ever pass up an opportunity to talk to you even if it was just to say goodbye,’_ but there are so many people within earshot. So he just says, “Promise.”

But when he hands over the bath bomb, he lets his fingers brush against Dirk’s just a little.

Dirk is keeping his head ducked, his face mostly hidden, but Todd can still see the blush spreading again as Dirk starts the process of weighing and packaging the bath bomb.

_Ask him now!_ urges one of the voices in his head. _Don’t make him wait anymore!_

“Hey, um …” Todd mumbles, “About earlier.”

Dirk nearly drops the bath bomb halfway through taking it off the scales. “Mhmm? Yeah?” he squeaks.

“I … Um.”

_Say it!_

Someone in the line behind Todd bumps him while reaching for one of the lotion pots for sale on the counter. Another person laughs loudly at someone else’s joke.

“I’m sorry if it was … I don’t know …”

“No,” Dirk cuts him off abruptly.

He’s raised his face properly, and he’s wearing that expression again, that one that feels like it’s undoing all the knots in Todd’s heart. He looks like he want to speak, but his eyes dart at the line behind Todd and his expression twists again, frazzled.

He opens and shuts his mouth, looks down at the bath bomb, and then starts wrapping it up in the noisiest way possible, the crinkle of the paper nearly drowning out what he says next.

“Don’t apologize for that.” Dirk’s voice is so quiet, but he still sounds like he’s nearly begging. “ _Please_.”

Todd wants to take his hands. He clenches his own on the edge of the counter and tries to think.

_Say it, come on, please …_

Another person bumps him from behind, and somewhere further back he hears Panto talking to an impatient customer.

“I wanted,” Todd tries to say. “I … I was gonna …”

Dirk glances at the line again, and Todd can feel the panic beginning to return.

_Say it!_

But Todd can’t think what he’s supposed to say. The perfect words still haven’t materialized. There are so many fucking people around, and Panto’s voice is closer, and Todd can practically feel Panto’s eyes on him, waiting on him, watching.

Dirk is tapping at the cash register now. “That’ll be $6.95, sir,” he says in his usual customer-service voice, though it sounds somewhat strained.

“Right, yeah …” Todd fumbles for the notes in his pocket, and he almost doesn’t hear Dirk’s voice drop down again.

“Come back on Friday?” Dirk asks quietly.

_Friday. I can come back on Friday. I can try again._

“Yes,” Todd answers quickly, relieved. “Yeah, I’ll – I can do that.”

Dirk’s face is ducked again, his hands moving very fast to bag up Todd’s single bath bomb. “Promise?” he says again, this time without a trace of a joke.

“Of course.” Again, the little thrill of making promises to Dirk sings up Todd’s spine.

Dirk has now moved on to scribbling the product code number on the back of the receipt, as he always does. He doesn’t lift his head, and Todd can barely hear him properly over the noise of the shop, but he says in the same low, almost urgent voice, “Don’t forget to check the bag, will you, sir? I broke it yesterday, put it aside then, but – funny, really, that you … It just reminded me of – But you already said …” Dirk shakes his head and stuff the receipt into the bag, looking distinctly flustered. “You’ll see.”

“Right.” Todd has to try not to smile, confused as he is, because Dirk just … never stops being cute.

That’s when, as if he can hear Todd’s thoughts and is determined to be heart-attack-inducing as well as cute, Dirk leans in over the counter. Todd feels his chest tighten, and for a split second the noisy line behind him is gone, and all he knows is Dirk, suddenly close again, Dirk’s fingers, warm against Todd’s as Dirk hands the bag over, and Dirk’s voice – only loud enough for Todd to hear.

“You look great.”

A shiver runs from the tip of Todd’s ears, at the spot where Dirk’s lips had brushed against him earlier, down to the pit of his stomach. Before he can say a word, Dirk has leaned away again, and Todd is finding himself mutely shunted to the side as the line moves forwards.

This man is going to kill him.

 

* * *

 

Todd doesn’t open up the bag until he gets home. Inside he finds the yellow bath bomb he bought, which he’ll have to pass onto Amanda tomorrow, and … another little package. Usually the bath bomb bags are stuck shut with a sticker printed with the name of the bomb and a list of its ingredients, but this one has been sealed with a little plastic sticker shaped like a red, sparkly heart.

Todd feels warm again at the sight of that little heart, at the thought of Dirk putting whatever bath bomb is inside away just for him. Warm, nervous, fluttery. He’s careful to leave the sticker intact when he pries the paper open.

The smell of peaches is released into the air, sweet and soft. Todd can almost taste it in his mouth.

_No way._

He reaches in and pulls out a large piece, like half a broken love-heart, of sunset-colored peach bath bomb.

Todd lets out a short, giddy laugh, half-collapsing back onto his couch. He’s grinning in a slightly stupid, slightly hysterical way, as the significance of what he just managed to pull off today begins to sink in.

_And I actually managed to beat Dirk to the punch on a flirting pun._

Still grinning like an idiot, Todd pulls out his phone and opens up Google. He’s halfway through scrolling the results for ‘date ideas’ when two words spring out at him.

‘ _Valentine’s_ _Day_.’

That’s coming up soon, isn’t it? Todd doesn’t usually think much about it, other than to make a mental note of the day of the week it falls on so that if he has a shift on at the hotel he can psychologically prepare himself for overhearing way more sex noises than usual. Todd’s never really been into Valentine’s Day at all – in fact for a few reasons it tends to put him on edge.

But Dirk … Dirk is probably exactly the kind of person who loves Valentine’s Day. Hell, the little heart sticker probably came from a whole pack of Valentine’s Day themed glitter stickers. And even on the off-chance that Dirk isn’t crazy about Valentine’s Day, he’s definitely _not_ the kind of person who’d cringe if Todd …

If Todd asked him out. For Valentine’s Day. A real, proper, definitely-a-date-this-time date. If Todd bought him flowers again and gave them to him saying, ‘ _here, this is for our date, I really like you, Dirk, I like you so much, please can we go somewhere just the two of us where we can talk for hours and maybe kiss?_ ’

It’s a terrifying thought, asking Dirk out properly. Todd feels _beyond_ warm, nervous, and fluttery. But a date with Dirk. It’s one hell of a Holy Grail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hullo everybody i had to get a filling today and am, quietly, very nervous that my tooth won't heal properly or something and also the drilling gave me a two hour late sensory overload which was very sexy of my brain but oh well anyway if you have nice feelings please make me smile with my newly polished toof by sending them to me below. stories about pets also accepted at my tumblr inbox. [weak thumbs up]
> 
> also same rule applies re: if you've left substantial comments/reviews before, feel free to leave constructive criticism if you have it!


	9. World Never Looked So Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd is having the time of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wordcount is 7K for this chapter!
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS:
> 
> Minor, non-graphic depiction of an attack experienced by non-POV character. Mild references to childhood bullying and minor references to social anxiety/paranoia, ableism and homophobia. None are very intense and nothing particularly upsetting occurs, but if these are danger points for you, check out the end notes for a more detailed description/summary!

Todd spends the rest of the evening alternating between triumph and intermittent swirls of gut-wrenching anxiety. Whenever he remembers just how _good_ that afternoon’s visit was, Todd shoots up into a dizzying high. Then, almost inevitably, he remembers what he’s just decided to do: ask Dirk out.

And, like, surely that’s going to go okay, right? Dirk seems to like Todd, especially now that Todd’s cleaned up, and he seemed to really like the flirting. And Dirk’s been doing basically all the heavy lifting here for months, so it’s only right that it’s down to Todd to take the next step.

Or it could be a disaster. Todd could fail to get out an entire coherent sentence. He might make an idiot of himself in front of Dirk, and Panto, and maybe an entire store of customers. Dirk might just laugh in his face again. Or worse, Todd might find out for certain that Dirk doesn’t actually want anything to do with him outside bath store flirtations, and that what has come to mean everything to Todd has just been a fun past-time for Dirk. Or even _worse_ than worse, Todd might make Dirk uncomfortable. The nasty voice also loudly insists, against all current evidence, that Todd might have _somehow_ misconstrued everything since the beginning, and when he asks Dirk for a date, Dirk might be completely weirded out and then Todd will never able to show his face there again and he’ll never see Dirk again and – no, he can’t actually think about that without feeling like a panic attack is coming on.

He can’t think about any of the details, Todd decides. It’s not as if he’s got time to – Valentine’s Day is only next week – and maybe that’s a good thing. It gives him less time to panic. Tomorrow he’ll visit Amanda, try to keep his mind off things, and then as soon as work is over the next day, Friday, he’ll head to the bath store like he promised Dirk he would. Just show up, look decent, ask Dirk out for coffee on Valentine’s Day. It’s pretty much what the Fab Five would call ‘ _the most basic bitch plan ever_ ,’ but Todd really doesn’t have the mental fortitude for anything more complicated than that. Karamo would probably call it ‘ _being patient with pushing your boundaries_ ,’ but it’s really just that if Todd starts over-practicing what he’s going to say, he’ll start hyperventilating or worse from sheer nerves. So he’s going to keep things basic bitch.

It’s only as Todd gets ready for bed that he feels those nerves start to properly settle, trickling bit by bit from his shoulders under the hot water of his shower, and finally melting away as he slides into bed. As he falls asleep his anxieties are slowly replaced by a soft, floating sensation, that blissful weightlessness he’s felt a few times before where Dirk is concerned. It carries him easily into dreams of flying.

 

* * *

 

The next morning the sound of rain brings Todd back into wakefulness, from a morning-dream-turned-daydream of an alternate universe where he had kissed Dirk on the mouth – and also all the other customers and Panto weren’t there. And also he and Dirk were probably somewhere else. Like, waking up in bed together on a rainy Thursday morning.

That floating feeling is still there and only expanding more and more as Todd wakes up properly, filling his chest like the soft grey clouds outside his window. The anxiety and the nerves have all but entirely vanished, and what little remain feel like almost pleasant flutters and thrills. Todd gets out of bed and starts his day, but all he can think about – all he _wants_ to think about, is Dirk.

As he cooks himself breakfast, he listens to songs that are more pop-punk than post-punk, humming, and smiling to himself at random intervals over basically nothing. Well – not basically nothing, that’s not true – Todd is smiling at everything, he’s beyond distracted. He’s remembering how Dirk’s body felt against his, the warmth of his cheek and the sound of his voice. He thinks about Dirk’s lips brushing his ear a truly embarrassing amount as he dresses for work. As he packs his bag for the day he’s not thinking about what he’s got for lunch or the clothes he’s chosen at random to change into after work; he’s thinking about the exact shade of peach-pink that Dirk turned when Todd flirted with him. As he makes his way out of his apartment, Todd has to check he’s locked his door three times, because most of his brain is completely occupied by replaying that one almost-hug, agonizing over each place their skin touched. Every inch of Todd’s heart aches in the best way possible.

An imaginary Dirk seems to follow Todd to work; he sits in the car next to him and sings along to the foreign pop songs on the radio. He presses up against Todd whining about the cold and the drizzle as he makes his way through the employee carpark. He shoots Todd little grins over the shoulder of the manager and he pulls silly faces behind the backs of rude customers. By the end of the day, Todd’s pretty sure his manager thinks he’s finally crumbled into insanity, because apparently he can’t stop smiling.

When he drops round to Amanda’s that afternoon, it’s officially pouring, and Todd’s officially daydreaming his way through the time until he gets to see the real Dirk in person again. Amanda, who seems to quickly sense that Todd is in a spectacularly good mood, is wily enough not to question it until she’s already extracted a promise for a manicure from him.

Once they’re settled on the couch with Amanda’s nail polish collection (circa 2007) on the coffee table, Amanda pounces.

“So, who got you the drugs and can I convince you to go halfsies?”

Todd laughs as he shakes up Amanda’s bottle of fluorescent green polish. “I’m not on drugs. You wanna watch something?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.” He is. “I just feel like putting something on.”

Amanda narrows her eyes. “A likely story.”

Todd glances at the window, which is streaked with rain, and an idea springs to mind.

“Okay,” he says, “it’s raining. I make you Hot Bean Juice, and you stop quizzing me about my mood.”

Amanda’s eyes light up, but she holds herself still, obviously trying to match his cool. “Hot Bean Juice, you say. With or without peppermint?”

“With peppermint.”

She considers the offer. “You’d make me Hot Bean Juice anyway.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Not even if I use Manda Eyes on you? Super effective?”

Todd carefully avoids the Manda Eyes, which have been his undoing in the past. “Nope.”

Amanda sits back with a huff. “I get a brief summary of the dirt. And three questions. And Hot Bean Juice.”

“How about _no_ summary because there’s _no_ dirt, and no questions, and Hot Bean Juice _and_ you get to pick what to watch, three caveats.”

“Why so eager-beaver to let me have my way if there’s no dirt?” Amanda says. “Summary, two questions, Hot Bean Juice and watch-pick, two caveats.”

Okay, so he’d kind of played his hand there. He bargains harder, “No summary, one question, Hot Bean Juice and watch-pick, one caveat.”

“No caveats and you got yourself a deal.”

Todd grimaces. “Fine.”

“HAH!” Amanda punches him in the arm. “Okay, sucker, off you go. Mom sent fancy chocolate last week – cupboard, top shelf.”

Todd heads for the kitchen with a groan and a scowl, both of which he drops the moment he steps out of Amanda’s line of sight. Imaginary Dirk pops back into being in kitchen – sitting on the counter and swinging his legs. Todd’s stomach flips over as he remembers Dirk’s hands in his yesterday.

“And don’t skimp on the peppermint!” Amanda yells from the living room.

Todd just smiles to himself and starts pulling out the ingredients. He hasn’t made Amanda’s special hot chocolate in years, but he knows the recipe by heart from every snow day, every winter, and every lengthy flu. Decent quality dark chocolate, melted. Full-cream milk, slowly heated on the stovetop. And, on special occasions, a dash of peppermint essence. Todd just manages to find some in the very back of the cupboard. It looks like it’s been there since Amanda moved in, and it probably has.

Todd can remember the hot chocolate he made her after she moved in here.It was two years ago, and four years into pararibulitus. Amanda had been so determined not to move back to Oregon with their parents, but she needed to live closer to someone who could be there at a moment’s notice. So they picked out an apartment around the corner from Todd’s place. Amanda insisted on being involved with the move. She said if Todd was doing it, then why couldn’t she?

She dropped a box of books on her foot ten minutes after Mom and Dad pulled out of the drive. Todd, who had stayed behind, sat with her through an attack that lasted for nearly forty-five minutes, and between the sobbing and the screaming the only things she could get out were ‘ _don’t call an ambulance_ ,’ ‘ _don’t take me to hospital_ ,’ ‘ _I can do this_.’ That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. They couldn’t afford an ambulance, and they couldn’t afford hospitals bills. They couldn’t afford them because of what Todd had done, back when he was only two years older than Amanda is now, but with 75% less strength of character.

That night Todd had made her hot chocolate out of sheer guilt, because there was nothing else he could give her. And she’d smiled at him, and called him a good brother – and it felt fucking awful. His own hot chocolate had tasted like ash in his mouth. He’d ruined it. He’d cheapened something that had always been special because he did it out of guilt, not love.

So he stopped making Amanda hot chocolate. And she never asked for it outright, because that was never how the whole thing went – Todd offered her Hot Bean Juice, she accepted it.

But now, as he tips the dash of peppermint into Amanda’s hot chocolate, it feels right. It feels as close to perfect as it ever will again. He’s not making this out of guilt, or even to get out of admitting he’s obsessed with a bath store employee. Todd’s making Amanda her hot chocolate because he loves her. And it feels good again.

He’s feeling almost misty-eyed when he delivers the hot chocolate to her. She seems to know the significance of it too; Todd can tell in the way she smiles when he sets it down in front of her, and when she sees he’s made himself one too her smile grows. Then, of course, she kicks him in the side with the foot she’s pulled up on the couch and shoots the most gremliny grin possible at him.

“Hey. Hey, Todd.”

“Oh god, what have you done?”

“I know what I wanna watch.”

“If it’s fucking _Ella Enchanted_ again …”

“Okay, first off, I know you secretly love _Ella Enchanted_ so you can give up the act,” she says matter-of-factly, “second, I get my question now, then we watch.”

Todd shuffles back into the opposite side of the couch, pulling his feet up too. “You want the blanket?”

“To-odd.”

Todd throws the blanket over her legs anyway. He avoids her stare.

“Todd.”

He slumps back and throws an arm over his eyes. “Ugh, fine. Go.”

Amanda says nothing. Todd raises his arm enough to look at her, irritated.

“I said, go –”

“I’m thinking! I gotta make this good … Gotta be, like, crafty about it.”

“Oh my god …”

“Okay, I’ve got it.” Amanda sits up with another gremlin grin. “Is it … a girl?”

Todd laughs. “No.”

Amanda’s face falls, and he laughs even harder at that. He knows he’s sort of lying though – he knows what she was actually getting at. He knows what he looks like today.

“It’s a guy,” he says with a smile. “Now, come on, what are we watching? Put me out of my misery –”

“No shit, wait, so there _is_ someone?” Amanda looks over the moon. “ _I knew it_! Oh my god, you look like when Sarah Brundige said she liked your dumb mixtape in ninth grade –”

“No,” Todd says loudly, “nope – you’ve had your question, you got two goddamn answers, now shut up and drink your Bean Juice –”

“Oh, come on, you can’t tell me that and then just –”

“Uh, yeah I can, I just did, and if you don’t shut up _I’ll_ drink your Bean Juice.”

“No!” Amanda snatches up her hot chocolate as soon as Todd leans forward. “Okay, fine.” She points a finger at him with a steely look. “But this isn’t over.”

When Amanda finally does unveil what she’s chosen for them to watch, Todd has to work so hard to suppress his laughter that he nearly cracks a rib. Amanda’s wicked glee dies away with one look at Todd’s completely deadpan acceptance.

“Okay but, like … You know what this is, right?”

“Looks pretty straightforward.”

Amanda looks at first perplexed, then deeply disappointed. “No, why aren’t you pissed?”

“Do you want me to be pissed?” Todd asks her, amused.

“ _No_ ,” she whines, in exactly the sort of tone which suggests she did want him to be pissed, just a little.

She spends more of the first episode shooting suspicious looks at Todd over the rim of her mug than actually watching. Todd ignores her, because he knows that that’ll infuriate her more, and simply sits back with his own hot chocolate and the most serene expression he can conjure up, while simultaneously trying not to bawl with laughter at just how badly his sister has squandered her no-caveats pick.

They’re ten minutes into the second episode when he finishes his hot chocolate and picks up the green nail polish again, letting a smirk creep onto his face.

“You wanna know what’s really crazy?” he says.

Amanda’s ears almost visibly prick up. “What?”

“Jonathan’s still just as funny on the second re-watch.”

He watches Amanda process this, her face working its way through confusion, comprehension, disbelief, and finally settling on indignant outrage.

“You … _asshole_!”

Todd bursts into the laughter he’s been holding back for over an hour. He falls back on the couch as Amanda lunges forward and pummels him in the ribcage.

“You fucking dick! When – How much of this have you seen already?”

Todd tries to catch his breath, wiping tears from his eyes, “Like, nearly three seasons.”

Amanda hollers and punches him as he continues to laugh.

“Oh my god, your fucking face when I didn’t instantly _explode_ with horror …”

“I thought you’d hate it! I’ve been meaning to watch it for ages – how the fuck have you even seen it?”

Todd can’t reply; he’s gotten to the stage of stupid inarticulate laughing where his stomach is actually beginning to hurt.

“Todd. Todd, it is so _not_ that funny!”

He’s not going to able to stop, so he doesn’t bother – he’s too giddy to care. He gets to hang out with his sister, she doesn’t hate him, he still knows how to make hot chocolate, and tomorrow he gets to see Dirk. Life is good. Life is amazing.

Amanda kicks him, hard.

“Ow! Hey, shit!”

“You’re a fucking nerd.”

He kicks her back. “You’re the nerd.”

From there things devolve into a lot of kicking and punching. When he was a kid Todd never would have thought that one day he’d feel really grateful for the chance to punch and be punched by his sister, but here they are.

By the time night falls it’s still raining quietly outside. They’ve made their way through a season or so of _Queer Eye_ , as well as a couple of boxes of Chinese takeout. Amanda’s manicure is complete, so now she’s painting Todd’s nails electric blue while the show continues to play in the background.

“I still can’t believe you seriously chose something other than black.”

“I thought it was that I asked you to paint them in the first place that really shocked you.”

“Yeah, because you didn’t want black!”

“Just ‘cause some of us want to try things other than Emo Ink Black and Acid Shock Green … Hey!” Todd pulls back as Amanda deliberately splashes his middle finger with polish.

“Oh, _shit_ , _sorry_ ,” she drawls, “your nails are just so weird and stubby I can’t fit the brush on ‘em.”

Todd flatly flips her off with his painted finger.

Once Amanda manages to grab his hand back and continue her sloppy excuse for a manicure, they fall back into a comfortable quiet. Todd catches himself relaxing into a smile again. He can’t remember the last time he felt this calm around Amanda. Almost like he actually deserved to be around her. And when Amanda speaks it’s again, it’s not just for the sake of filling the silence.

“Damn, imagine just …” She’s shaking her head at the laptop screen, where the Fab Five are gathered around a guy they’re helping immediately post his gender-affirmation surgery. It’s lowkey one of Todd’s favorite episodes.

“Imagine just – having that,” Amanda says, nodding at the Fab Five. “Like, a pack of random cool dudes rock up out of nowhere and are like ‘ _Hey, we’re your friends now. Live your dreams_.’ I want hype men. I totally deserve hype men.”

Todd snorts, “You make it sound like they could be delivered by van or something.”

“Listen,” she says frankly as she recaps the nail polish. “You can’t always get everything in this life, but we should all get what we deserve.”

Todd starts laughing again, and he doesn’t stop for a long time, and it doesn’t feel bitter for even a single second. It feels fantastic.

 

* * *

 

Friday dawns, and with it the return of a good 60% of Todd’s nerves. But he doesn’t panic. He focuses. He switches into the mode of forcibly not thinking about what he’s planning to do, and whenever the nasty voice starts trying to yell into his ear he blasts it back with mental images of Dirk. The way his eyes crinkle at the edges. The shape of his hands. All his different smiles. Todd’s still riding enough of a high from Wednesday to carry himself through the morning like that, through a day of work, and through changing in the staff restroom after his shift.

Todd arrives at the store much the same way as he did on Wednesday; clean new clothes, all freshened up, heart absolutely going nuts in his chest. He repeats the plan to himself; pick out the first bath bomb he sees, pull Dirk aside, ask him if he’d like to do something on Valentine’s Day. Or some other shift-free time for both of them. Coordinating the actual date feels like hubris, so Todd tries not to think too hard about it. He just concentrates on walking into the store without flying into a panic.

 _I’m ready,_ he tells himself.  _I can do this. I’ve got this. I’m not going to drown._

And, of course, after all that, Dirk is occupied with another customer and doesn’t even see Todd walk in.

Since Todd has been coming to the store, it’s been an increasingly rare occurrence for Dirk to be talking with someone else for longer than a couple of minutes. This guy is taking up so much of Dirk’s time that Todd starts to wonder if this is how other customers usually feel when _he_ monopolizes Dirk.

Todd hangs aimlessly around the central bath crate display, watching Dirk and the other customer with what he tells himself is curiosity. He doesn’t often get a chance to observe Dirk’s behavior with other customers, particularly not with other male customers, as they’re relatively rare at the bath store.

And he’s surprised when he sees Dirk laugh and bat the man’s arm as he talks. One thing Todd’s noticed about Dirk is that he doesn’t seem to like being touched by people he doesn’t know well. He doesn’t seem to have a huge concept of personal space, but … admittedly, Todd had been beginning to think that Dirk was just like that … around Todd.

Quick and sharp, the nasty voice manages to get a word in. _Maybe it isn’t just you. Panto called him an ‘incorrigible flirt,’ remember?_

Todd’s chest clenches unhappily, but he wills the voice to shut up. He’s not going to get jealous over Dirk talking with someone else for five minutes. He’s not going to be _that_ asshole.

He can’t help but notice though – with his stupid obsessive brain – that the man Dirk is talking to isn’t bad looking. He’s slightly taller than Todd, though that’s not exactly hard. He’s well-kept, with thick and cropped hair and dark skin. He’s also wearing nicer clothes than Todd could ever dream of affording; a crisp, off-white button-up tucked securely into well-tailored trousers, polished shoes. He looks like the kind of guy who works in computer science or something like that. Organized and educated, all-shit-totally-held-together, but with a job niche enough to be interesting at dinner parties while still being a responsible career.

Todd’s entire being wants to rebel against him on sight.

“Can I help you?”

Todd almost doesn’t hear the voice behind him; it’s as soft and as slightly creepy as moths’ wings. It perfectly matches the person he sees when he turns around, though.

In the nearly six months that Todd has been coming to the store, he’s mostly just encountered Dirk and Panto. Granted, that probably has a lot to do with Todd coming to the store specifically when he knows Dirk is rostered on, and more and more on Wednesdays when the store is quieter and probably less in need of extra workers. Still, he’s occasionally seen a couple of other people bustling about in the background, always on busy days, but if he’s ever seen this woman before he doesn’t remember her.

He feels like if he’d looked at her properly, she would have stuck in his mind. She has large, dark eyes under equally large and dark bangs. Her skin is very pale, and with her black hair and her black store uniform she looks like a goth from the late 2000’s. She has a sweet smile, if a vaguely unsettling one.

“Are you looking for anything in particular today?” she asks in her whispery voice, her cadence slightly disjointed, as if she’s thinking about the words carefully as she says each one.

“Um … no. No, I’m good,” Todd replies, trying not to show his unease.

The woman just continues to stare at him, almost eagerly, which doesn’t help Todd feel relaxed.

“I’m just …” He picks up the closest bath bomb, trying to turn away and end the interaction without being rude. “Browsing. It’s cool. Um. Don’t worry.”

“You have blue eyes,” says the woman, still with the lilting voice of a possessed child in a horror film.

 _Oh god_ , thinks Todd. _Is this how I die?_

“ _Sir_!”

Todd jumps again and stumbles back into something solid; hands wrap around his waist in a half-hug.

“You’re here! Looking and …” Dirk buries his face in Todd’s hair, and Todd’s heart jumps too, “smelling fantastic, as usual!”

 _Incorrigible flirt_ , echoes the nasty voice.

Todd ignores it. Dirk is here now. Dirk is hugging him, not random computer-science-business-major-dude. The thought makes Todd smile, if a little vengefully. He turns in Dirk’s arms.

“Hey, you.”

_Great opening, dipshit._

_Shut up. In Dirk’s arms. Self-hatred can wait._

Dirk beams down at him, and Todd grins, letting himself take in all of Dirk, all of Todd’s favorite things that have gotten him through this day; from Dirk’s eye-crinkles to his lips to the familiar scent of bee-melt honey that clings to him. Dirk seems less flustered by Todd’s appearance than last time, but his eyes are still skimming across Todd’s face and down his chest – and god, he’s still holding Todd, and that floaty, joyful feeling is back with added warmth.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Todd says, and revels in the way Dirk’s mouth purses happily, like he’s trying to suppress an even bigger smile.

The woman makes a faint noise, and Dirk jerks and releases Todd.

“Oh! Yes – er …” He steps to the side and throws an arm around the woman with a grin. “This is Mona, she –”

“Is this the one?”

Dirk splutters, “Mona!”

Mona looks unperturbed. “Is he though?”

“… Yes, but –”

“He does have blue eyes.”

Dirk, looking like he’s trying to shrink into his own shirt, laughs forcedly, waving a hand, “Hah, she’s … Yes, Mona, _very_ observant, that’s …”

“ _Very_ blue eyes.”

“ _Mona_.”

Mona just looks Todd up and down, and her mouth stretches into a confusingly mischievous smile. She looks up at Dirk, and giggles, mouthing something at him – but her face is tilted in such a way that Todd has no idea what she’s saying. Dirk wrinkles his nose, but he looks like he’s trying to hide a smile too – and Mona glances back at Todd with another smirk that makes Todd feel like the only person in the room not in on a joke. He squirms under her gaze, but she just continues to giggle quietly and stare. Dirk apparently notices, because he starts to shoo her away.

“Alright, now you’ve met, isn’t that nice, yes? All very good,” he says hurriedly, “but oh look! Some customers have come in so you should go and look after them, _shouldn’t you_?”

“I don’t think so,” says Mona with playful confidence. “Why don’t _you_ go and look after them, because I was looking after your Sir first –”

Her sentence ends in a muffled shriek when Dirk starts trying to jam her head under his own armpit as if he can hide her there. Mona squeals and tries to wriggle away, but Dirk only tries harder to trap her in a headlock.

It’s as Todd watches them tussle that he cottons on – this must Dirk’s sister, the one Todd’s heard about but has never actually met. He’s never seen Dirk be so tactile with someone. It’s a slightly violent sort of ‘tactile,’ but it’s definitely affectionate and playful – and it reminds Todd of him and Amanda kicking each other on the couch.

And the way Mona was looking at him just now, glancing between him and Dirk while smirking and giggling, that reminds him of Amanda too. Amanda, age five, sitting at the dinner table and pulling kissy faces at Todd because he’d invited Sam Gardener over for a school project and he was having dinner with them, and Todd had a huge gross crush on him, and Amanda _knew_.

But also … It also reminds Todd of being eight years old, and the whole class finding out he’d made a Valentine’s Day card for Brodie. Todd can’t remember Brodie’s last name, if he ever knew it, but he remembers sitting behind him in elementary and watching the sun glint on his curly hair. Todd was too young at the time to recognize his feelings as his first same-gender crush. He just knew that he thought Brodie was cool, and really funny, and that he wanted Brodie to be his best friend – or his super best friend – just his … _person_. His special person. Eight-year-old Todd had ended up writing that on the Valentine’s card he made Brodie, ‘ _I want you to be my person_ ,’ under a heap of painstakingly drawn flowers, and thirty-four-year-old Todd just _cringes_ at the memory.

It didn’t matter that eight-year-old Todd hadn’t understood it was a crush – everyone else in the class had worked that out before him. And wasn’t that just the worst part? That everyone else knew first and had been joking about it behind his back for weeks? Or maybe it was the part where Todd had found out that Brodie had joined in on the joking too.

 _No_ , says the voice inside his head. _It’s not like that. Dirk isn’t like Brodie from elementary. He’s not going to laugh in my face and rip up my Valentine’s Day card up in front of the whole class. This is like Amanda and Sam Gardener. That’s why they’re laughing._

 _Or maybe they’re laughing at you_ , counters the nasty voice, slithering into Todd’s mind once again. _She obviously knows who you are. That means Dirk’s talked to her about you._

“Sir, have you seen these new bars?”

_I wonder what he’s said about you._

“Sir?”

Todd kicks himself back from the verge of dissociation. He focuses on Dirk’s voice.

Mona is standing behind Dirk now, still wearing a barely hidden smile. She passes Dirk something golden and he holds it up for Todd to see. It’s a bubble bar shaped like an oversized coin, covered in a thick coat of golden glitter and embossed with the words ‘Thank You.’

“Mona just pointed them out to me,” Dirk says, and Mona giggles again from behind him. He steps back on her toes, unsubtly. “They’re one of our new Valentine’s Day specials.”

Todd knows it’s stupid of him, but he still feels himself tense up.

 _It’s just a coincidence,_ he tells himself.  _Just because it reminds me of something that kind of fucked me up doesn’t mean that Dirk or his sister are messing with me._

“They’re called Love Tokens,” Dirk is saying. “You’re supposed to give them to someone special …”

He can’t be messing with Todd. He’s Dirk. He’s a bit of an asshole sometimes, sure, but not like that. He’s not cruel. He’d never be cruel.

 _Or maybe it’s just a game to him,_ says the nasty voice.  _Maybe he doesn’t actually want to be with you and you’re going to die alone._

Dirk is still talking, but Todd can’t really hear what he’s saying – he’s busy trying to fight back the tide of anxiety in his chest.

“Oh, whoops! Silly me!”

Todd is jolted back into the moment by the sight of Dirk’s ass in front of him – because yeah, of course that’d get Todd back in the moment, weird little creep that he is.

“I can’t _believe_ I dropped it!” Dirk is saying as he bends over to scoop the broken bubble bar up from the floor. “I am just _horrifically_ clumsy today, gosh.”

Mona is still giggling, and Todd can’t focus, he can’t pull himself out of the tide. He almost can, he’s almost clear – but then he sees Mona nudging Dirk in the back and another little wave of doubt washes over him.

Dirk straightens, and when he sees Todd’s face properly, he pauses. His eyes soften – or at least Todd wants to think they do, anyway.

“Mona, love,” Dirk says, not taking his eyes off Todd, “can you go check on those customers by the face creams?”

“But …”

“Please?”

Mona shoots Todd one last uncomfortably ambiguous look and leaves. Todd looks down at the floor, still trying to get his brain in order. He’s probably being stupid, he knows that. He feels a sense of shame for getting caught up in his own thoughts again, after all the work he’s done to learn ways through them. He shouldn’t be relapsing like this, especially not in public – not in front of Dirk.

Although, if not in front of Dirk, then who else? There’s not a single person in the whole world that Todd wants to show himself to so completely. Even if he’s not ready to show all of it at once, not yet.

Todd is startled by a touch on his hand. Dirk is taking Todd by the hand, pressing something into his palm – another one of the golden token bars. One that’s still whole. He closes Todd’s fingers over it with both hands, and his touch glitters with gold specks.

Todd stares down at their hands, and the bar half-obscured within them. “What’s …?”

“I told you,” Dirk says, “it’s a Love Token. You’re supposed to give them to someone special.”

“But … you’re giving it to me,” Todd says stupidly.

“That’s right.”

There’s something pained and hopeful, caught between Todd’s ribcage and his throat. For an awful moment he thinks he won’t be able to speak, but then he swallows, and says, “But the one you broke … This one’s – You should be selling this one.”

Dirk shrugs. “I thought you deserved something that wasn’t broken, for a change.”

His tone is light and careful, as if this is just another joke about bath bombs – as if something hasn’t irrevocably changed in the air between them since Wednesday – but his thumb has begun to stroke against the side of Todd’s hand. It leaves trails of gold against his skin.

Todd looks up and meets Dirk’s eyes. There are entire skies within them.

“See?” Dirk murmurs.

“See what?”

“You really do smile like the Sun.”

Todd hadn’t even realized he was smiling to begin with. But now he feels it, on his face and in his chest, where the pained hopeful thing is fluttering madly.

Todd wets his lips, “So, I was thinking …”

He sounds odd to his own ears, a bit shaky, and maybe Dirk notices. Something makes him tilt his head ever so slightly, makes his hands tighten on Todd’s.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to, or anything; I don’t want it to be, like …”

Dirk leans closer; his face is starting to go on one of those long journeys through a myriad of different expressions. Todd tries not to get caught up in watching them.

_Stop stalling, chicken, just do it._

“Would you, maybe …” Todd is about to ask him, he really is – but he’s so transfixed by Dirk’s face, and as he’s speaking, he sees something flicker in Dirk’s eyes. Maybe he’s just looking for it desperately and imagining it into being, but still, the sight of it makes him trail off, staring.

And as Todd stares, there’s a bang, and a crash – and a short but piercing, deafening scream. Dirk drops Todd’s hand. Across the store, some kind of small disaster has occurred. It looks like one of the metal bowls has been dropped onto the hard brushed-concrete floor, and now there’s pink goo everywhere, and a baby in a stroller next to the face creams is crying loudly. Their father is trying to comfort them, but the mother is more preoccupied with a shape on the ground, lying half-covered in pink gunk.

“Mona?!”

Dirk is across the store in an instant. Todd follows him to see Mona curled up on the floor, shaking with sharp, hard breathing, her eyes screwed shut and her hands clamped over her ears.

The mother is trying to pull Mona up, it seems, but even Todd can see that Mona is in no condition to be moved.

“She just fell over after it dropped – I don’t know what happened, I’m …”

“No, no, it’s okay – this happens to her sometimes.” Dirk crouches between the mother and Mona, effectively stopping the woman’s attempts to heave her upright. He’s surprisingly focused, practiced. He’s done this before.

And it’s a scene that Todd easily recognizes.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” says the panicked mother, already fumbling with her purse.

“No, no – just,” Dirk winces, “I’m really sorry, can you take the baby out of the store? It’s the noise, it’s actually hurting her quite badly.”

The father, who has pulled the screaming baby out of its stroller and is now jiggling it ineffectively in his arms, gives a short, awkward chuckle. “Yeah, I know how she feels.”

Dirk’s mouth tightens into a hard line, and Todd steps in. This, he can be useful with. This is a script he knows.

“He means she’s got a condition which affects the way her brain processes sensory stimulus,” Todd says firmly, because he’s learned by now that the bigger and more medical the words, the more quickly people understand that it’s serious. “The crying is painful for us, yeah, but for her it’s probably like … Like knives jabbing her. Or being on fire.”

He’s also learned that making those descriptions sound like figurative analogies rather than actual psychosis also means that whoever he’s talking to is less like to think ‘schizo,’ and more likely to be helpful.

“Oh – oh, okay, honey, take her out to the car, I’ll meet you out there – do you two need a hand with …?”

Dirk is bent over Mona and speaking quietly to her, but he glances up to shake his head in response to Todd’s questioning look.

“No, no, we’ve got this,” Todd tells her.

There’s a small crowd gathered around now – because of course this had to happen on a Friday night. The father has to edge his way through them as he carries the baby out, and the mother has even more difficulty maneuvering the stroller behind him.

Panto is nowhere in sight, and neither is anyone else in a store uniform. Dirk is still trying to calm Mona down. Todd has to make an executive decision.

“O-okay, everyone?” he calls over the store, trying to strike a balance between too loud and inaudible, “We’re gonna have to close up just for a few minutes. We’ve got a medical emergency, but we’re handling it, so please, _no one call an ambulance_.”

There’s a few mutterings of dissent, but the customers begin to shuffle out. Todd fobs off a few who plead to buy something before they go, because he knows that’ll just open the gates for ten more people to buy something. He herds the crowd out as quietly as possible, and by the time he’s pulling the huge sliding door down, Dirk has gotten Mona to her feet.

“Is she okay?” Todd whispers, coming over to offer help.

Dirk nods his head; he has Mona supported with one arm over his shoulder. She’s not hyperventilating anymore, but she still has her eyes tightly shut and her face is half-turned into Dirk’s shoulder. She looks even paler than before.

Todd hurries into the backroom and pulls a chair out from the table ready for them when they slope in unevenly.

Dirk jerks his head towards the left wall, “There are controls for the speakers over by that wall, can you …?”

“Right, yeah – ‘course …”

Once Todd finds the controls and turns off the pop music, the entire place is suddenly deathly quiet. Outside, he can distantly hear the mall bustling away, carrying on with its business. In here, sounds have softened to the rustling of Dirk’s clothing as he lowers Mona into the chair and crouches next to her.

“Sorry, I …” Todd says as quietly as he can, “I wasn’t sure what to do – about the customers, and …”

“No, thank you,” Dirk says. “You made the right decision, I … I don’t know what I would have done without you here to help.”

Todd hates the sad, strained expression on Dirk’s face. “You were doing great, you – you look after her really well.”

Dirk turns away, his features twisted. Todd knows that look. He wants to tell Dirk that what happened to his sister isn’t his fault, even if he feels like it is. He wants to stay with Dirk and help him so that if Dirk needs it, he has someone who’ll hold onto him too. There are a lot of things Todd wants to do. One of which, it now seems, he picked the worst possible day to try for.

“You should probably go,” Dirk says, without turning around. He strokes Mona’s hair back from her face in delicate movements. “I’ll call Panto, he doesn’t live far away. He can come and take over things.”

“I can stay ‘til he gets here.”

Dirk stands, taking Todd's hand again, and Todd realizes that through all of this he hasn’t actually put down the golden token bar.

“It’s okay,” Dirk whispers. His eyes look more distant than Todd has ever seen them. “Thank you for your help. I – I do wish you could stay, but …”

“Then I’ll stay,” Todd replies immediately. “I want to look after you. I mean. Both of you,” he adds, probably unconvincingly.

Something flashes behind Dirk’s gaze, but unlike the previous look, it disappears before Todd can name it.

“No, I … I think it’s best if …” Dirk shifts slightly, blocking Mona from sight, and it’s then that Todd catches on.

Of course. Amanda hates it when strangers see her have an attack. It’s the most humiliating thing in the world, breaking down in public, and knowing that to others you look like a crazy person, or a child. Mona probably wants to be alone, to just have her brother looking after her, and Todd is pressing himself on them both.

“Ah, okay, I’ll – I’ll go. I’m sorry, I didn’t –”

“No, sir.” Dirk squeezes Todd’s hand once more. “Thank you. Really.”

Dirk’s sincerity. It really is going to be the death of Todd.

“And, sir?”

“Yeah?”

The expression from earlier is back in Dirk’s eyes, and even mingled with drawn, worried brows, once Todd gets a second look at it, the hope begins to swirl back into his chest, no longer pained at all.

Dirk opens his mouth, hesitates a moment. “If …” He shakes his head minutely, as if to himself, then says instead, “I’ll see you soon?”

Todd nods. “I promise.”

Dirk nods back, flashing a wan, grateful smile as he lets go of Todd’s hand.

Todd knows he shouldn’t feel so happy right now, but he can’t help it. The hope keeps spreading, flooding through him. Still, he tries to look serious as he retreats. “I’ll see you next Wednesday. Tell Mona I hope she feels better soon.”

“Yes, of course, I will – thank you.” Dirk’s already turning back to her, grabbing a box of tissues from one of the counters as he goes.

When Todd looks back just before leaving, Dirk is knelt in front of Mona, one glittery hand holding onto hers. She’s got her head leaned back against the wall and her eyes are still shut, her fingers fidgeting restlessly, rubbing against the fabric of her jeans – but Dirk says something to her that surprises a small giggle out of her. Todd closes the door on them with a faint smile.

If Todd were a better person he’d probably be worried about Mona, but he isn’t. He knows she’ll be alright with Dirk looking after her. Todd does wonder how long she’s had pararibulitis, and whether Dirk is her primary carer. He’s selfishly relieved that Mona’s accent, although weird, was definitely American. That probably means that she and Dirk are foster siblings or something like that, not blood relatives, and that means Dirk is unlikely to be in danger of developing pararibulitis. That’s something which has played on the back of Todd’s mind, whenever he remembered Dirk saying during their first meeting that it ‘ran in the family.’

But in truth, that’s the extent of Todd’s thoughts on Mona, because almost every single part of his brain and body are far more focused on Dirk. On the drive home Todd doesn’t listen to the radio. He feels like there’s already music playing in his head, swelling and falling in waves of feeling. The golden bubble bar is sitting on a newspaper on the passenger seat, unwrapped, and Todd has to stop himself from glancing at it and grinning like an idiot.

The hope has become elation which has become a euphoria by the time Todd pulls into his parking space. He takes his stairs two at a time, like a little kid, rushes into his apartment and heads straight for the bathroom. He’s so happy he doesn’t even have it in him to feel stupid about singing loudly as he turns the bath taps on full blast.

The nasty voice is mumbling something, something about his unrestrained joy and how it has no right to exist, but Todd can’t hear the words. He doesn’t give a shit about what it has to say. All he can think of is look on Dirk’s face, the one that made Todd fall silent at the worst moment and derail the whole thing – but Todd can’t even feel crushed and stupid about that because –

_Dirk knew. Dirk knew I was going to ask him out._

Todd’s always loved Dirk’s shifting, changeable expressions, the way he tends to shoot through five at once like he’s trying to hit bingo, but that expression had been like … like looking into a mirror. Todd had felt hopeful in that moment, just a little, but looking into Dirk’s face he’d seen just as much hope, and excitement, and something that looked like ‘finally, _finally_ …’

_He was going to say yes._

Todd holds the bubble bar under the running tap and watches as glitter-flecked bubbles begin to spray and foam. The smell of the bar permeates of the steam of the bath, and at first it smells like pine forests, then like ginger biscuits. The ‘Thank You’ branded on the bar is starting to wear away under the tap, but Todd can still hear Dirk’s voice saying " _someone special_."

_I’m not just someone he flirts with to pass the time. I’m someone special._

Todd knows it with a certainty that feels so rock-solid that nothing can wash it away. Everything is filled with hope and excitement and ‘ _finally, finally_ ,’ with the hunger he saw in Dirk’s eyes on Wednesday and the way the space between him and Dirk – the space that seems to be closing faster and faster – feels alive with all the promises Todd has made.

_I’ll go back on Wednesday. I’ll ask Dirk out. And he’ll say yes._

A previous version of Todd might have been alarmed at all the feelings coursing through his chest right now. Things are definitely getting out of hand. But, to put it another way – in the kinder, softer, _warmer_ light that’s beginning to fall on everything in Todd’s life – he’s pretty sure he’s never felt like this before.

He’s getting better. His _life_ is getting better.

And later, much later, Todd can only think … that’s when he should have known. His life was about to get much, much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: //  
> A non-POV character has an attack which is described as falling to the ground, hyperventilating, and closing eyes/plugging ears tightly. Todd interprets this as a pararibulitis attack. Episode occurs in the second-last scene of the chapter and is relatively brief and non-graphic. The character is looked after and kept safe, nothing bad happens to them.  
> References to POV-character experiencing childhood bullying in the form of rumours, humiliation, and implied social isolation/being socially 'ganged up on.' Bullying centred on Todd having a crush on another boy his class when he was 8. Homophobia directed towards Todd implied, bullying culminated in Todd's crush ripping up a Valentine's card Todd had made for him in front of their classmates. Todd remembers the incident when he feels socially anxious/paranoid in front of two other characters. Really just the usual stuff for Todd re: social paranoia.  
> References to social anxiety/paranoia, homophobia (see above for both) and ableism are minor. Latter is in regards to the social perception of people who have attacks/episodes (panic attacks, pararibulitis, epilepsy, any kind) in public. Nothing ableist actually occurs to the characters.
> 
> *
> 
> Apologies that this chapter is a bit late, folks!!! Chronic fatigue got me in its sticky claws again.


	10. More Than One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd has an extremely terrible no-good bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (8K words in length, btw, for the hyperfocus-ies out there) is pretty much entirely intense angst, so:  
> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> Homophobia as a theme of conflict, graphic verbal homophobia, multiple uses of ‘f’ slur, references to internalized homophobia.  
> Brief but reasonably intense displays of non-violent ableism, singular use of ‘r’ slur.  
> Themes of bullying, social anxiety/isolation, targeted harassment, etc. experienced in detail by POV character both in flashback and present.  
> Graphically described emotional breakdown including a disconnect from reality/dissociation, themes of intense self-hatred.  
> For more detail please check the endnotes. They’re very spoilery but I’ve tried to provide a detached summary divided by the themes in question. And I promise - everything will be okay by the end of the fic.

Over the weekend, Todd has time to come down from his euphoria enough to think. Not over-think, thank god, and not obsess – just think _rationally_. Twice now, he’s tried to ask Dirk out. The first time, weeks ago, on that spur-of-the-moment impulse, only to be interrupted about _Queer Eye_ , of all things. The second time, on Friday, also interrupted. Todd seems to get interrupted a lot, usually at the absolute key moment.

His mistake, he knows, has been spending too long stammering and making room for ‘ _if you like_ ’ and ‘ _maybe, possibly_ ,’ when he should have just cut straight to it. That’s what he’s going to do on Wednesday. No preamble, no warming up; Todd needs to just walk right in there, take Dirk aside and ask him out for Valentine’s Day. Two days advance warning might not be great, and it means that the chance of someone else having beaten Todd to the punch is pretty likely, but Todd isn’t going to think about that. He’s just going to do it. Wednesday, third time’s the charm, bring daffodils with a card that he can leave if there’s yet another fucking interruption. A note saying; “ _I desperately want to date you but apparently fate hates my guts, anyway, here’s my number, please call me_.” Or something more chill than that, probably.

But then, something else happens. Tuesday happens. And with it comes a series of events that bring Todd’s plans crashing down like the Hidenburg.

The day starts out shaky to begin with. Todd has slept like utter shit, because sometimes he still sleeps like utter shit, and that has repercussions. He’s slow-moving, so soon he’s already running late. He’s clumsy. He drops his bowl in the kitchen right after pouring milk into his cereal, and it shatters with an ear-splitting crash. Things unravel from there.

By the time he actually leaves for work he’s nearly an hour late. He does manage to get himself in the car looking presentable though, and he spends the car trip talking himself down and trying to zen his way through traffic congestion. He arrives at the hotel feeling almost proud of how well he’s managed to piece himself back together, and how little he swore at other drivers on the road – until his pissed-off manager finds him.

Todd suffers through a fifteen-minute lecture on how his manager ‘expected better’ by now, and how maybe if he ‘spent less time playing with his hair in the mirror’ Todd would get to work on time. It all ends in a barely veiled threat about standards and spotty performance rates. Never mind that Todd hasn’t been a minute late to work in over a year, even before he started trying to turn his life around. Never mind that he’s actually been showing up early and leaving later in the last couple of months. _Never mind_ that the guests have been giving him better tips so clearly his service performance is more than okay.

When Todd is sent up to the penthouse to deal with some kind of ongoing disturbance as penance, he uses the elevator ride to calm himself down again. He leans against the wall, doing the breathing exercises that Amanda linked him to, and they work. He emerges from the elevator feeling mostly okay, determined that he isn’t going to let one shitty morning ruin the rest of his day.

Then the woman in the penthouse throws a shoe at his head. She apologizes right after, because apparently when he knocked, she thought he was someone else. Still, getting hit in the face with a stiletto isn’t exactly soothing, and the woman doesn’t look completely level-headed. In fact, she looks slightly unhinged, and Todd’s still wary that her excuse for throwing a sharp object at a bellhop was, “I thought you were my son.”

Even so, Todd successfully goes into blank customer-service-android mode. He cleans up the mess of wine bottles and used tissues. He listens while the woman continues to pace the room with mascara streaming down her face, ranting at length about her wild teenage son and his late nights, her husband who’s so inattentive that she could ‘stick pins in his face without him noticing,’ and her book club who kicked her out for ‘a minor traffic misdemeanor.’

Todd does his job, and then he makes a quick getaway, and he tries to let it all roll off him like water off a duck’s back. He gets through the rest of the day much the same, dealing with what feels like an inordinate amount of screaming babies and cocky businessmen who pretend they don’t notice the ‘No Smoking’ signs. He tells himself he’s not going to let any of it drown him.

And then comes Todd’s late afternoon break. He’s sitting in the tiny kitchenette that leads off the back of the employee breakroom, slumped over the worst cup of instant coffee he’s ever had, but thinking of Dirk. He’s almost feeling better. The day is nearly done, and in a little under two hours he can go home and take a bath and get all of this crap out of his head. He’s feeling proud of himself, really and truly, because he knows that a couple of months ago this day would have involved at least three anxiety attacks and a lot more repressed rage.

He’s in the middle of a daydream about playing guitar on the couch while Dirk sits next to him and sings, and also maybe Amanda is on drums – or no, maybe Amanda isn’t there because maybe Todd starts kissing the lyrics out of Dirk’s mouth –

He’s startled out of it by the sound of the door to the main breakroom banging. A gaggle of familiar voices rushes into the room. Hidden away in the kitchenette, Todd presses himself back into his chair, trying to duck away from the glass pane in the door that separates the two rooms.

“… You see his fucking nails this morning?” says one voice loudly, grating on the faint headache that’s been plaguing the back of Todd’s head all day.

The speaker is recognizably Ryan, one of the other bellhops. He’s echoed by a chorus of laughter.

“Oh my god, yeah. What the fuck.”

Todd looks down at his nails. The color has chipped slightly since last week, but they’re still noticeably painted blue. He hadn’t even questioned it.

_It’s fine. Ryan’s a dick anyway. Who cares what Ryan thinks, the dude smells like he bathes in Axe body spray._

“Total faggotry.”

Todd’s stomach washes with sharp, sudden nausea. Outside the kitchenette, the breakroom is ringing with the laughter of four or five men.

“Fuck, and his hair? Have you seen how he wears it now?”

“Nah, that’s nothing,” says Ryan, “I saw him after his shift last week – he actually got changed before leaving, I saw him in the men’s, wearing this like, little fag jacket and washing his face and shit –”

“Why?” guffaws one voice.

“Maybe he had a date,” suggests someone else, more neutrally.

“A date?” The first voice snorts derisively. “Him? Shut up.”

“Dude, don’t be mean,” says Ryan jokingly, “maybe he paid some other homo to fuck him up the ass …”

More laughter, driving nails into Todd’s chest.

“God, he thinks he’s the shit now, seriously. I don’t even know what happened, but I don’t care, he’s so fucking _annoying_ , you know what I mean?”

“Yeah. Last week he said he’d take down this huge bag of used sheets to the laundry for me, and at first I was like ‘ _oh sick_ ,’ but then his face was just like … ‘ _uuh, I’m so calm and shit and I can do your job better than you …’”_

“No, that’s it! Dude, it’s like that. He thinks he can do it better than anyone. Like – like he’s better than the rest of us or something even though he still drives that piece of crap car.”

There’s another chorus of laughter, punctuated by Ryan saying, “Hey, hey … Can you imagine his face if we like – like if someone smashed up his stupid car? Remember how he used go all schizo over the smallest thing?”

“Oh my god, yeah …”

“The time he started like, screaming at you because of that one suitcase?”

“He’s a dick.”

“Okay, but his car –”

“Don’t smash up his car.”

The laughter fades. The newest speaker is Nathan, who works down in the laundry room.

“Why?” says Nathan, and he sounds as if he’s shrugging. “You don’t even need to. He’ll probably smash it up himself, eventually.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Look, I don’t know. It’s not like he’s talked to me in weeks, or anything, but this – _thing_ he’s doing, it looks like it’s just some kind of dumb New Year’s Resolution bullshit. You think he’s gonna be able to keep it up forever?”

There’s a general murmur of assent.

“He’s gonna break down again,” Nathan continues, “and when he does, he’ll realize he’s just another fucked up loser like the rest of us.”

The laughter reverberates through the breakroom again, along with a flurried blend of conversation that Todd can’t even process. It all sounds both too distant and too close, indistinct and echoey and sharp as knives at the same time. The voices snigger and jeer, one overlaid over the other until it all feels like an incoherent cacophony – something he can’t make out until another word pierces through it all like a jagged rock scraping down the hull of boat in a storm.

“… So fucking _retarded_. Why does he even have a job still?”

“Heard the manager yelling at him this morning, actually. I’d bet money he’s gonna get fired soon.”

“Nice.”

Footsteps sound and the door bangs again; they’re starting to clear out.

“I’m telling you,” says Nathan, over the swinging of the door, “Todd’s just an asshole. And he’s always gonna be an asshole.”

The door slams shut. The footsteps fade away.

Todd hears all this. He knows, dimly, that they’re gone. But he’s not there anymore, not really. He feels like the real him – the thing that lives inside his body – has sunk away below the linoleum floor and now there’s just an ice-cold slab of stone that can’t move or think or feel.

Except he can. He’s frozen up and he’s not there, but he can feel the nausea in his stomach so strong that it’s almost painful, the burning in his chest and throat – everything hot, then cold, then heavy. His mouth tastes like blood. He’s been biting his cheek this whole time, he realizes, but he can’t unclench his jaw. He feels completely blanked out and yet trapped in a silent, unmoving hell where his insides scream and scream and scream, and his brain moves so painfully slowly yet he can’t control his thoughts at all, can’t turn away from the things he’s just heard.

There can’t have been more than five guys outside, and Todd didn’t recognize every voice, but he recognized most. They’re all his co-workers, mostly around his age, mostly men he’s worked with for years. Guys he talks to every week. A couple of other bellboys, some guys from the kitchens, and Nathan. Nathan, who Todd had always gotten along with just fine, who he used to talk about music with sometimes when their breaks matched up. Nathan, who he now realizes he hasn’t actually caught up with for months.

At first Todd feels another wave of guilt, because has he really been that kind of self-obsessed dick? But then, no, he thinks – that’s not true, he has tried to talk to Nathan like usual. It’s _Nathan_ who’s been weird around _him_. Their conversations have been short and stilted. Just the other day Nathan had looked really off, and Todd had asked him if he was okay.

Nathan had just given him a look. “You wouldn’t get it. Not anymore, anyway,” he’d said, with one of his customary shrugs.

Todd hasn’t really had much time spare to think about it. He and Nathan aren’t super close. They’ve talked off-hand about dealing with anxiety sometimes, but …

_Oh, right._

Nathan has illness problems too. Nathan has had a shitty few years too. But now Todd’s getting better, and Nathan’s staying the same.

Is that it? Does the closest thing Todd had once had to a friend at work hate him now, just because Todd’s life looks like it’s turning around and Nathan’s isn’t? Does he think it all came easily to Todd, or that he just lucked out?

Or has Nathan just always hated him? Has Nathan always secretly wished that Todd would crash his car? Todd has no way of knowing, and it’s likely he’ll never find out, but either way he feels sick. Either way, his co-workers hate him, and this clearly isn’t the first time they’ve talked about him behind his back. Have they always done this? Or just since he started changing?

Is he really that unbearable to be around? Is this how everyone sees him; a stuck-up asshole who’s fooling himself that he isn’t just the washed-up loser he actually is? Has he looked that stupid to everyone, in his jacket and his hair and all the effort he’s put in to just feel okay with himself – has everyone just been laughing at him the whole time?

Would it be better for everyone if Todd had never tried to change at all?

 _No_.

It’s the voice again, the one which was once little and is now big, and strong, and _pissed_.

 _It_ was  _worth it. And I can do this. Fuck those guys. Screw them and their homophobic defeatist bullshit. I’m not that kind of person anymore._

Todd is back in his body. He summons up all his frustration and uses it to force himself shakily to his feet. His break isn’t even over – his shift isn’t over either, but screw that. He hasn’t had a sick day in two years, but if his manager fires him for leaving now then screw this shitty job too.

 _Okay. I tried. I tried really fucking hard, but this was a shit day. The day has been_ shit _, and I feel like shit, and that’s okay, but I am_ not _staying here a second longer._

He phones his manager on the way down to the parking lot. He leaves a message saying there’s an emergency and he’s taking the rest of the afternoon off. Ten minutes later he’s starting up his car and tossing his tie and hat on the passenger seat. He’s on the road before he even knows where he’s going, but it doesn’t take him long to decide. It’s not the right day for it, it wasn’t in the plan, but screw the plan too, apparently. There’s no one in the world who makes him feel better than Dirk.

Todd pulls over at a florist’s, grabs another bunch of daffodils, and sets out for the mall. He’s still in his uniform, his face is sticky with angry tears, and he probably just generally looks like hell, but he doesn’t care. Dirk isn’t going to judge him. He’s kind and he’s loving and he’s _Dirk_ , and Todd needs to see him right now. He wants to have one good thing come out of this shithole of a day.

 

* * *

 

Dirk isn’t there. Neither is Mona, or Panto. Todd stands in the doorway of the store with a sinking heart, getting the strange sense that he’s in some kind of alternate universe. The bath store shouldn’t exist without Dirk in it, right? Then Todd remembers that it’s a Tuesday, and it’s quite possible that Dirk might not be shifted on for Tuesdays. Todd had been in such a hurry to get out of the hotel, track Dirk down, and thrust a bunch of flowers in his face that he’d forgotten that Dirk himself might not be available.

The store is quiet and mostly deserted, and the only person in uniform is a man re-organizing the lip scrubs. He looks vaguely familiar; Todd’s pretty sure he’s seen him working in the background before but has never actually spoken to him. Todd is just about to leave when the man turns around and spots him.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, dude.”

The man starts towards him, even though Todd tries to make the universal sign for ‘ _no, no, don’t, it’s fine, I’m leaving_ ,’ and back out of the store.

“You need a hand with anything?” asks the sales assistant. His nametag reads ‘ _Hugo_ ’ with ‘ _he/him/his_ ’ crammed onto one tiny corner of it, almost begrudgingly. He’s a tall guy, with Hollywood-worthy good looks to rival Panto’s but none of Panto’s easy warmth. He just looks kind of chiseled and out of place in a way that Todd can’t really put his finger on. All he can think is that this guy is the only employee here who has a very specific ‘straight person’ vibe. Why that has anything to do with working in a bath store, Todd doesn’t know. He just knows that he automatically shrinks back and tries to hide the daffodils by his side, then hates himself for doing so.

“No, it’s cool, I was just looking – I thought my friend might be working here today, but I must’ve got it wrong. I’ll just –”

Hugo’s eyes shift down to the daffodils, which are only partially hidden. “Oh, are those for her? If you leave them here, I can –”

“No,” says Todd, sounding strangled. Why did he show up with flowers out of the blue, again? Like it went so well the first time. “No, it’s fine –”

“Nah, seriously, dude.” Hugo leans forwards with the slightly stupid, slightly friendly, slightly intimidating energy of a frat boy, and grabs the flowers out of Todd’s hand. “We’ve got each other’s numbers, I can probably text her and let her know to come pick ‘em up. Who’re they for …?”

Todd’s brain screams as Hugo flicks open the card taped to the outside of the flowers. Todd lunges forward and grabs for the flowers, and a small tussle ensues.

“ _Woah_ , what …”

Hugo grapples with him confusedly, but even taken by surprise he’s a lot stronger than Todd. He has the arm muscles of a gym rat. Todd emerges from the scrabble with most of the torn card in hand. He shoves it into his pocket. The top of the card still remains stuck to the cellophane, though, with one incriminating piece of evidence scribbled at the top in Todd’s cramped handwriting.

“‘ _Dirk_ ,’” Hugo reads, then scrunches his face up in what could be anything from disgust to plain befuddlement, or even reflexive indigestion from being forced to read. “You got these for Dirk?”

Todd’s stomach turns over in instinctual, sickened fear, just like it did in the kitchenette.

“They’re …”

He wants to say “ _yeah, they’re for Dirk, Dirk’s amazing and I want to buy him flowers; is there are problem with that?_ ” He wants to be brave, and he wants to be proud – of both Dirk and himself.

‘ _Total faggotry_ ,’ echoes the nastiest voice in his head.

Todd isn’t brave enough.

“They’re for his sister,” he blurts out instead.

And he hates himself even more for it.

Hugo relaxes into comprehension – short-lived comprehension, it turns out. He’s quickly confused again. “Wait, his sister? Why?”

“Well, she was sick the other day, and –”

“No, like, why would you bring them here? She doesn’t work here.”

Todd frowns. “Uh, yeah, she does. Mona?”

Hugo scoffs out a laugh, “What? That’s not his sister.”

“No, it – it is.” Todd really resents the look Hugo’s giving him right now, the one that suggests Todd is a bit dim. It feels hypocritical. “Mona? Dirk’s sister. Small woman, black hair?”

“Yeah, dude, I _know_ who Mona is,” Hugo insists. “But that’s not Dirk’s sister.”

_Wait, what?_

Embarrassment crawls up the back of Todd’s neck. “Oh. Okay. I just thought – they were really … They seemed close, and they were hugging and stuff, and Dirk doesn’t usually –”

“I mean, yeah, she _is_ his girlfriend.”

Todd’s heart skips a beat in the worst way possible. It’s just for a second, then he laughs.

“Okay, no – maybe she’s not his sister, but she’s not his girlfriend. Dirk isn’t – Dirk doesn’t have a girlfriend.” When he says it, Todd realizes how stupidly confident that sounds.

Especially with the context of the openly puzzled look on Hugo’s face.

“Um … I do work with them, I’m pretty sure they’re dating,” he says. “That’s, like, defs not his sister, anyway. His sister’s called Bart, she works out on the key-cutting stand around the corner. You know, across from the drugstore? Wears her hair all weird …?” He sticks his fingers up behind his head like a rooster’s comb.

The sound of the sea is beginning to rush in Todd’s ears. “… What?”

“No, yeah – I’m like … Like, Dirk and Mona are definitely dating. Like, they’re always cuddling and kissing and stuff.” Hugo shrugs. “I dunno, it’s not like I hang out with them. They’ve got all these privates jokes and they’re always like, pulling pranks on me and shit.”

“Pranks …”

“Yeah, like … You know – they prank me. Flick water at me ‘n’ stuff, and talk about me behind my back like they think I won’t notice. They’re always giggling and whispering and crap.” Hugo shifts his considerable shoulders as if there’s some small, irritating discomfort between them. He scoffs again, “And it’s like, whatever, anyway because they’re both super freaks so I wouldn’t _wanna_ be friends with them …”

Todd is no longer listening. All he can hear is that far-off noise like terrible, surging waves coming closer towards him.

There’s no way this is true, right? Mona can’t be Dirk’s girlfriend. Dirk’s … Okay, he’d never actually _said_ he was gay, he just … gave off a vibe stronger than the Eurovision Song Contest. He’d never said it though, Todd had just assumed it, especially after Dirk told him he was another kind of LGBT+. Except … Dirk hadn’t _told_ him he was asexual. Dirk wore an asexual sticker and _possibly_ _implied_ that he didn’t like sex. That was it.

Todd’s mind begins to splinter into dozens of voices.

_Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god –_

_Did I flirt with Dirk in front of his girlfriend?_

_If that’s Dirk’s girlfriend, then why did Dirk flirt with me?_

_Unless he wasn’t flirting with you this whole time,_ the nasty voice is quick to gloat _. I told you. But you thought you knew better._

_Oh god._

_You were so convinced he liked you, weren’t you? And I told you to be careful. I told you not to get ahead of yourself._

_No, no – Mona’s his sister._

_His sister who looks completely different and has a totally different accent?_

_Oh god, oh god, oh_ fuck _…_

_It was a prank._

It wasn’t a prank. It can’t have been. Dirk is so sincere – it’s the first thing Todd ever noticed about him. Dirk is so kind, he’s so – There’s no way he would do this, to Todd or to anyone else.

_You must look like an idiot to them._

Todd tries to kick the voice away. He tries to keep his head clear. This is probably just another misunderstanding. Todd knows Dirk, he knows what he’s like. Todd’s never spoken to Hugo before today. Hugo’s probably lying.

Except Hugo doesn’t look like he’s lying. He’s still speaking, glancing down at the flowers in his hand and then at Todd occasionally. His brow is furrowed, as if he can’t for the life of him work out why Todd would think anything other than that Dirk and Mona are dating. He doesn’t look evasive, or nervous, or sly; he’s doesn’t look like he’s even capable of _being_ sly. He genuinely believes what he’s saying.

Maybe he’s just wrong. Some other way, _somehow_.

_He said they kiss all the time._

Numbly, Todd pulls the flowers back out of Hugo’s grip. He leaves the store without a look back.

 _There’s no way this can be true_. That’s all he can think, over and over. _There’s no way._

He finds the key-cutting stand around the corner as Hugo described, across from the drugstore. The woman working there is around Dirk’s age, maybe a bit younger, but she looks nothing like Dirk. She’s slightly built, with wiry arms, and she has a drugged-up look to her. Her untamed brows are furrowed in a seemingly permanent, almost perplexed scowl, as if she’s looking at something puzzling which she just picked up on the side of the road after it punctured her tire.

She’s talking to someone at the other end of the stand, out of Todd’s line of sight. Todd can hear her clearly enough to pick up on a strong accent – a different kind of weird to Mona’s, but again, definitely American – and it gives Todd a flare of hope until he remembers: Dirk grew up in foster care. The sister he talks about could have any accent. And this woman does have the hair that Hugo described, gathered into bunches that stick up over her head.

“Whatchya want?” she barks at him after a few minutes of Todd staring at her in near total paralysis.

A voice behind her clears its throat pointedly, though its owner is still obscured by an array of key-cutting machines and keychain stands.

The woman rolls her eyes. “Can I help you?” she asks, in a bored, schooled tone that suggests she has no interest in helping him at all.

Todd wants to run away. Perhaps it would be better not to know. Maybe he should just wait, try and catch Dirk tomorrow or Friday, and –

_And you think he’d be honest with you, if he actually was just fucking with you this whole time?_

Todd grips his flowers, coming closer to the stand. He has to know.

“Are you Bart?” he asks the woman.

The woman mutely points at her nametag, which Todd realizes, with a flush of further embarrassment, does actually read ‘ _Bartine_.’

“I mean, um … There’s this guy who works in the bath store round the corner, and I was told that you –”

The woman cuts him off with a heavy sigh, “Yeah. I’m Dirk’s sister.”

The bottom drops out of Todd’s stomach. The woman, unaware, keeps talking.

“What’d he do this time? I ain’t paying for no more damages. If you got a problem with him, though …”

Todd’s attention is rapidly refocused when she swings a long, terrifying sword out from somewhere under the counter.

He backs away hurriedly. “Shit – no, I’m not … There’s no problem! There’s no problem!”

“Bart!”

The unseen speaker from before has appeared, and Todd sees with another very unpleasant puzzle-piece click that it’s computer-science-business-major guy from the other day, the one Dirk had been smiling at in the store.

The man removes the sword from Bart’s grip, with a weathered sort of patience. “Remember how I said threatening the customers with weapons is probably bad for business?” he says as disappears around the corner again with the sword. “Your fencing sword counts as a weapon.”

_Fencing sword …_

Dirk’s sister is a fencer. Panto had mentioned that once.

And looking at her now, close-up, Todd can see a resemblance. There’s something about the eyes, though Bart’s are greyer, and ringed underneath with dark shadows. Maybe it’s the shape, or just a quality, but Todd can see Dirk in them. He can see Dirk in the way Bart rolls her eyes again, in the faintly sulky look she sends in her friend’s direction.

The embarrassment creeps further and further up Todd’s neck. The pain in the center of his heart drives itself deeper and deeper.

_This isn’t … This isn’t total confirmation, though, is it? So what if this is Dirk’s sister – maybe Hugo’s still wrong. Maybe Dirk and Mona are just friends. This isn’t proof that Dirk was messing with me._

“Wait a sec …” Bart is leaning over the counter, peering closely at Todd’s face. “Hey, your eyes are like, really blue. And all starey. You got boggle eyes.”

Todd barely has time to flashback to vivid memories of ‘Creeper Eyes’ before Bart says something even worse.

“Oh hey, are you Sister-Boy? Dirk told me about you, you’re always starin’ at him like a creep.”

It’s quite possible that Todd stops breathing for a second.

“Ken, Ken – you gotta get back here and look, it’s Sister-Boy!”

Through the blinding pain that seems to be shuttering itself over all of Todd’s senses, he can see the man coming back around to the front counter, even as the only thing Todd can consciously think is, _No, don’t look at me – god, please, don’t look at me._

The man looks at him. He looks Todd up and down, as if weighing him up and finding him to be some sort of faintly amusing surprise.

“ _You’re_ Sister-Boy?” he says, in a tone that speaks in volumes.

“Look, he’s got flowers,” Bart is chattering, grinning, “them yellow ones. Like Dirk brought home. Hey, did’ya get those flowers for Dirk?”

Todd flinches outwardly, and instantly regrets letting them see his reaction. He’s flashing hot and cold again, just like he did in the kitchenette only a thousand times worse. It’s almost like a panic attack is coming on, but he’s so short-circuited by his own pain that his body can’t actually fuck him up any more than he’s already fucked up.

“Bart …”

Ken’s voice sounds pitying, and that’s the thing that actually makes the last struggling strains of hope in Todd’s chest crumble away and sink into nothing.

His limbs are so heavy that he’s almost afraid he won’t be able to move, but he does. He turns around, focusing everything he can on keeping his emotions tucked away out of sight, walking away with as much composure as he can scavenge from within himself. He’s not going to give them the satisfaction – he’s not going to give them anything that they could take and relay back to Dirk –

Dirk. God. _Dirk_.

It feels like Todd’s whole brain is echoing with Dirk’s name from thinking it just once – it crowds him wherever he tries to look away from it and everything it meant to him, and it’s so loud that it takes him a moment to realize that actually, someone outside his body is also shouting Dirk’s name.

The real world rushes back in momentarily, in a haze of sight and sound. Todd has stopped in the middle of the mall, just a few feet away from the key-cutting stand. Behind his back he can hear Bart calling out to him.

“Hey, don’t leave, Sister-Boy! I wanna know!”

“Bart, don’t overdo it.”

“You got a crush on Dirk or what?!”

It’s like he’s back in second grade again, hidden in the library and overhearing three of his classmates whispering, their voices full of fascinated revulsion.

_“Todd is like, obsessed with Brodie …”_

_“I don’t get it.”_

_“You know, like … Like_ that _. He’s always … you know.”_

_“What?”_

_“Staring at Brodie. All Creeper Eyes.”_

_“Todd? Todd Brotzman?”_

_“Gross!”_

_“He’s got a full-on crush on Brodie.”_

_“No way …”_

_“No, I saw him. He made Brodie a Valentine.”_

_“Nah …”_

_“He did! Just wait, they’re gonna get handed out next class. You’ll see it, it’s got all flowers on it.”_

_“Oh my god …”_

_“He thinks Brodie’s a girl and he’s obsessed with him and he wants to grab him and I bet he wants to kiss him.”_

“Sister-Boy! D’you have a crush on my brother?!”

It feels like everyone in the mall must be staring at him. Two hundred eyes turned his way, one hundred mouths laughing at him. Todd forces himself not to turn around. He forces himself to keep walking.

He shoves the daffodils, crumpled and wilting, in the first trashcan he passes.

 

* * *

 

Dissociation serves Todd well until he gets to his car. Then the tears start, and they don’t stop no matter how much he hates them. On the way home, he comes dangerously close to fulfilling Nathan’s prophecy and nearly crashes twice. He does make it back in one piece, but only in a literal sense. He doesn’t actually feel like he’s in one piece. As he fumbles his keys and staggers into his apartment he feels like a jagged computer simulation. He seems to glitch and fracture, and it’s hard to breathe while his lungs are three feet away from the rest of him.

His keys drop somewhere out of sight; the door slams shut and scatters the mangled pieces of Todd across his apartment. He’s distantly aware, at the same time, that he’s lying on the floor in a patch of afternoon sun that seems completely, ruthlessly incongruous with the way his sense of reality is shot through with pain and shock. The little voice in his mind is crying.

_This can’t be happening. This has to be a mistake. This has to be some kind of huge misunderstanding._

_What’s to misunderstand_? says the nasty voice, as loud and as clear as it was six months ago.  _You went there with your stupid flowers. Someone with no stake in things – someone who’s probably known Dirk longer than you have – told you that Dirk’s dating someone else._

_But, Dirk –_

_You saw them together with your own eyes. You saw them cuddling and whispering in front of you. They were laughing at you the whole time, and I told you – but you didn’t listen to me._

_Dirk wouldn’t –_

_Hugo said that they play pranks. That’s all it was, a prank. And everyone knew. Even his actual sister made fun of you in front of everyone._

The nausea builds to an overwhelming pressure _,_ and Todd tries to clamp a hand over his mouth, but he can’t find it – every part of him is in pieces and jolting further and further apart. Then his hand is on his face, holding his mouth shut before he can throw up – he rolls onto his side and curls into himself, even though there’s no _self_ to curl into. He’s a collection of spilled and shattered embarrassment, self-hatred, heartbreak, denial – all strewn on the floor like garbage, every individual broken piece screaming.

_Dirk wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t. It’s such a long game to play – who the fuck would –_

_People have done worse things. Maybe he’s fucked in the head._

Still, even in the midst of his own pain, Todd feels an instinctual revolt against that thought.

_He’s not fucked in the head. He’s not – I’ve known Dirk for months. Nearly half a year. I know him._

_Do you?_ counters the nasty voice, without even missing a beat. _What’s half a year when you only see him once or twice a week? For a couple of hours at most?_

 _But that’s … that’s enough. I still know him,_ insists the small voice, which is shrinking and shriveling and getting smaller by the second, cowed with a doubt it hasn’t felt in months.  _I know I do._

_You just feel like that, but actually …_

Todd doesn’t know anything about Dirk. Todd’s come to feel as if he knows everything, and that was stupid of him. He doesn’t know who Dirk is. He doesn’t know Dirk’s last name, or what part of town he lives in, whether he lives alone, whether he’s single or in a relationship. He doesn’t know where Dirk actually grew up, or why he lives in the US now. Dirk’s always talked about his ‘sister,’ but until today Todd never even knew her name.

Dirk talks all the time, but he never actually says anything. He tells Todd half-stories that sound like nonsense sci-fi and really fucked up detective fiction. He humblebrags about trespassing on military property and vagues about Romanian Christmas traditions and jokes that he was trained as a ninja by the CIA when he was fifteen. Some of it seems light-hearted, not meant to be taken seriously. None of it sounds remotely credible, now that Todd actually thinks about it. A Scandinavian dude who just _happens_ to be named Thor? A horse that sort-of-but-not-really faked its own death?

Who the fuck would be so stupid as to actually believe a word of it?

_You would. You’d be that stupid. You’d be so distracted by a pretty face that you wouldn’t even notice the bullshit coming out of his pretty mouth._

Todd remembers with visceral, stinging humiliation how every single time he’d gotten even close to asking Dirk out, to making some kind of definitive move, something just _happened_ to go wrong. They would be interrupted, or Dirk would cut him off, or just completely ignore what Todd was saying.

He remembers how the first time he flirted with Dirk – properly, deliberately flirted with him – Dirk had laughed in his face, as if he couldn’t hold it in. He remembers Mona and Dirk laughing at him, right in front of him with Todd too stupid and blinded by Dirk’s smile to notice. He remembers the last time he saw Dirk, looking after Mona in the backroom.

At the time, it had all seemed … sweet. Caring. Brotherly. Now his brain replays it, lingering over each detail in a different light. Dirk knelt in front of Mona, his face tilted up towards her. One hand clasping hers, the other stroking her hair back from her face with infinite care. The way he had leaned up to whisper something to her – the way she had laughed, and oh god …

Was that part of the prank too? The whole thing with Mona collapsing – that had kicked off right when Todd was about to ask Dirk out again. If Dirk wanted to keep the game going, he would have needed a distraction, pronto. And Mona had provided it. Dirk knew about pararibulitis, he’d said, “my sister’s the same.” He’d said that the day he and Todd met. Todd had assumed that sister was Mona, but if that sister was actually Bart, then Mona wasn’t having a pararibulitis attack at all.

Dirk had been the first person who actually knew what pararibulitis was without Todd explaining it to them. And had Dirk just used it to play a big, sick joke on him? Had Mona faked the whole thing – was that why she giggled as Todd left? Did they plan it all beforehand? As Todd left the store, hoping that Mona would be okay, were they just trying to keep their laughter quiet until he was well out of earshot?

Even the thought of it is too humiliating to bear. Todd can hardly wrap his brain around the idea of doing that to someone – using something like pararibulitis to mess with them. He can’t believe that Dirk, who he thought was so … so much the embodiment of everything good, kind, and compassionate, would –

Then Todd remembers. Bart is Dirk’s sister. Bart works on a key-cutting stand.

It’s too noisy. Even working in the mall, out on an open stall like that, that would be bad enough. But working with machines that cut and engrave metal, all day, every day? She wouldn’t be able to do that, not with pararibulitis. The attacks would be too constant – it would be too risky, or at least too draining. She’d be in too much danger of what the Brotzman family doctor used to call ‘further complications.’

So Bart can’t have pararibulitis. Dirk lied about that too. He lied right from the start.

_This isn’t something you can deny anymore._

Slowly, in awful, shuddering stops and starts, Todd begins to admit it. He begins to accept it, even as his stomach turns and his heart pulls itself apart like paper shredding itself into two again and again.

_He was just playing with me, this whole time. He was just trying to push me, string me along like a fucking sucker, see how much bullshit I’d eat up._

_And I did eat it up. I ate it up for six months – from August to December and on into February. And the whole time he was laughing at me._

_His girlfriend was laughing at me._

For almost as long as Todd has known how he felt about Dirk, he’s also worried that Dirk might have someone else. Because that would be easy, wouldn’t it, having an option better than Todd? But Todd had never even thought that something as ugly as this could be true; that not only could Dirk be deliberately playing with Todd, but there could be other people in on the joke, and one of them could be the person Dirk actually loved.

Todd’s not that stupid. The way Dirk had looked up at Mona in the backroom – no one could have mistaken that for anything other than genuine love. That wasn’t feigned. Todd had caught a glimpse of Dirk’s real feelings, and he’d been stupid enough to wildly misinterpret them.

And was Mona the only person who knew? Surely not, with the way that Bart had laughed at him today. Bart must know, and Ken must know too – and yes, Dirk and Ken had been laughing about something the other day when they were talking.

And Panto … Panto must know too. The realization cuts up another part of Todd’s being, makes his skin crawl with further, sinking horror.

Was the haircut-date thing on purpose too? Dirk had gone quiet for a moment that day, when Todd hadn’t responded to his flirting. At the time, Todd had been egotistical enough to think that he’d hurt Dirk’s feelings. But if Dirk wasn’t actually interested in him, if it was just a game … then was the stricken look on Dirk’s face just there because he’d been worried he was going to lose his chew-toy? Had he deliberately tried to tempt Todd with what sounded like a date, just to no-homo it into a haircut? Did Panto join in too, even going so far as to have a fake conversation with Dirk when they must have both known they were perfectly audible from the bathroom?

Todd had been so fucking stupid. So blind and lonely and fucking _pathetic_. He’d seen all these meanings in things that had meant less than nothing to Dirk. All the kindness, the free stuff, the supposed flirting right before dancing out of reach, the conversations that seemed to have double meanings but really just had a lot of plausible deniability – it was all just to keep Todd coming back for more. To keep prolonging the game, for as long as Dirk could play it.

_A bath store employee flirted with me for six months as some kind of elaborate dare. And I was the asshole stupid enough to change my whole life because I fell for it and I fell for him and I –_

He cuts his own thoughts off, slams his foot on the mental brakes just as he’s been doing for months, but it’s too late. The thought is out – out of the back of his mind and tossed amongst the debris on the floor that is him and his body and his stupid broken heart.

_I love him._

The little voice, so pitiful now, it can’t stop crying, and Todd has never hated it so much. He wants to push it away, he wants to shut it up for good, just hold it under the water until it stops – but god, it won’t fucking stop.

_I’ve never loved anyone like this in my life and it was all a joke to him. I’m a joke to him._

It needs to _stop_. He can’t breathe. He can feel himself going deeper, further under it all, and he looks up at his ceiling – still smoke-stained in places, and it’s insane to him now that he ever thought he could fix it. One terrible feeling gives way to another without pausing for breath, and Todd is left staring up through the water, at a surface he’s never going to be able to reach.

 _Don’t let this drown you_ , he tries to think. He tries to summon up the words, but the very shape of them reminds him of Dirk’s smile.

_Stay afloat. Just get through this alive. Do what you need to do for Amanda’s sake, at least. Just stay afloat._

Todd doesn’t know how he manages to get himself up. He can’t get to his feet – he’s still not breathing properly, and it feels like his lungs are full of water – but choking, hacking, he manages to crawl across the floor. He replaces the thought of Dirk’s face with the memory of Amanda’s. He tries to stay afloat, even though he’s moving like a sick child, like a crazy person.

In the absence of coherent thought, Todd finds himself following what has become his routine. He’s in the bathroom, wrenching himself to his knees enough to run a bath, because at least he can sit in a bath. At the sound of the water running, the feeling of the steam rising against his fingers, Todd starts to feel his breath return, if only on automatic. Shakily, he uses the bathtub to push himself up, and a few minutes later he’s stumbling back to the kitchen, leaning on the walls to get himself there. He doesn’t think, because if he starts thinking again, he’ll go under. He just follows what is, by now, muscle memory.

And then he sees his hands in front of him, shaking, grasping the bowl of bath bombs. All the things Dirk gave him. The smell of them hits Todd like a bullet to the chest.

_Why would he do this? Why would he go so far just for a prank? Why would anyone do this to anyone else?_

Todd’s trembling hands can’t hold the bath product he picks up, not properly. It falls from its partially open bag and tumbles onto the kitchen counter in broken bits and pieces.

Todd has spent enough time in the bath store now to recognize some of the regular products on sight and smell alone. This one is a bubble bar; usually shaped like a pyramid, purple striped with orange and tipped with gold glitter. The version Dirk gave him is, of course, broken almost beyond recognition, but Todd knows it from the colors and the smell of sweet orange. Its name enters his mind unbidden.

‘Karma.’

The last piece falls into place.

_Of course. I deserve this to have this happen to me._

It only makes sense, doesn’t it? Poetic justice, really. Of course Todd would fall in love with someone he barely really knew at all, someone who would fuck with him for months, pretend they understood him, and use pararibulitis as just another tool in the game. Todd had been so righteously horrified at the thought of someone lying about pararibulitis that he’d forgotten.

_That’s what you did, isn’t it? You lied about pararibulitis. You lied to your parents. You lied to your sister._

Todd’s favorite person in the world was Amanda. And yet, for years before she’d even developed the disease, he’d lied to her about it. He told everyone he had pararibulitis, even though he didn’t have it at all. He’d lied about the thing that had reformed the lives of five generations of their family – the thing that had nearly killed their aunt more times than Todd could count.

It’s fitting. It’s perfect.

Todd is drowning, and he can’t even summon up the will to remember why he shouldn’t be. He can’t find the strength to fight back as the worst voices in his mind surge down upon him, rushing like a tsunami through his chest and his ears and washing the broken pieces of his self away completely.

_I deserve this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intense scenes begin once Todd is sitting in the break room at work. (BULLYING ETC:) He overhears multiple other minor characters (coworkers) talking about him in an adjacent room. They are generally dismissive and overtly cruel about his recent attempts to better himself, both deriding him and complaining that he now thinks himself above them. (HOMOPHOBIA:) They are intensely homophobic in their discussion, mocking his dress style and his painted nails, and speculate about his sexuality, going so far as to make graphic homophobic jokes. (ABLEISM:) They also make comments about his behavior in the past being unstable and express a desire to provoke him by damaging his car.  
> (BULLYING CONT’D:) One character who Todd was previously casual friends with is particularly unpleasant. He states his belief that Todd will not succeed permanently at his attempts to get better, that he will eventually fall back into old habits and realize that he is no better than the rest of them. He also implies that he wouldn’t be surprised or upset if Todd crashed his car himself.  
> (EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN:) Todd’s traumas re: bullying in the past and his issues about self-conception and socializing are triggered and he experiences a bout of intense dissociation. He is extremely hurt about what his coworkers, particularly his former friend, have said, and wavers with some self-doubt over whether he shouldn’t have tried to change at all. The doubt turns to defiance and he leaves the rest of his shift in tears, intending to go see Dirk for comfort and to ask him out. When he arrives Dirk is not on shift, but Hugo Freidkin is there.  
> (INTERNALISED HOMOPHOBIA:) Todd is self-conscious in front of Freidkin and tries to hide the flowers he has brought with him for Dirk. Freidkin, non-aggressive/non-malicious but very heteronormative/passively homophobic, sees that the flowers are for Dirk though Todd manages to rip off most of the attached card. Todd experiences self-hatred over his own shame.  
> (EB CONT’D:) When Todd lies that the flowers are for Mona, Dirk’s sister, Freidkin is confused and tells him that Mona is Dirk’s girlfriend, and that Dirk’s sister is actually Bart, who works nearby. Freidkin also says that Dirk and Mona are notorious for playing pranks. Todd is disbelieving at first, but quickly notices that Freidkin obviously believes what he’s saying and isn’t intentionally lying. Todd goes to Bart’s key-cutting stand for clarification; Bart confirms that she’s Dirk’s sister. She also recognizes Todd apparently from descriptions given by Dirk, and makes some unfortunate comments about Todd’s ‘starey’ eyes which again trigger Todd’s bullying trauma as well as imply that Dirk has described Todd as a staring creep. Todd’s horror continues to escalate, especially when Bart calls Ken (working with her) to come look at him, points out the flowers, and asks Todd if he has ‘a crush’ on Dirk repeatedly. Todd has flashbacks to the bullying he experienced as a child and leaves. His state worsens rapidly through degrees of dissociation/disconnect from reality, and by the time he gets home he has an intense total breakdown. With his ‘nasty voice’ in control once again, he tries to believe that it’s all a misunderstanding but due to how awful the day has been, the misleading information he’s been given, and how many of his trauma buttons have been hit, he slowly comes to believe many things, including: that Dirk was lying to him, that Dirk never loved him and was only toying with his feelings, that Dirk is with Mona instead and that possibly she and even Bart, Ken, and Panto are in on the joke, and that he, Todd, has been publicly humiliated by someone he fell in love with. When he tries to pull himself together, he stumbles across one of the bath bombs Dirk previously gave him, which is called Karma. Todd accepts that, having lied to Amanda and his parents about having pararibulitis in the past, this entire experience must be karmic punishment and he deserves to have his heart broken.  
> Again, I promise that this fic does have a conventional happy fic ending and I'm not the kind of author who writes angst twist endings for shock value. I will take care of our precious boys. And you, dear reader.


	11. Makes Everything Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Todd's terrible day, and picking himself up again - with a little help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> 12K WORDS, please don't hyperfocus [looks at Benjie and waggles a finger, trying and probably failing to look stern bc I hyperfocused while editing this and am aware of my own hypocrisy]  
> While there are references to depressive and/or anxious feelings, betrayal, humiliation, self-loathing, anger, and guilt, all are to the level of earlier chapters, not anywhere as intense as Chap 10. For this reason I won't be detailing them in the endnotes, but I mention them here as a heads-up considering how heavy Chap 10 was. Most of this is towards the start of the chapter, things turn reasonably quickly to hurt/comfort with emphasis on the comfort.
> 
> Mild references to internalised ableism felt by POV character, mostly counteracted/argued against by non-POV character.  
> Short scene involving: minor hand injury/minor non-graphic reference to bleeding, dissociation/mild-to-intermediate disconnect from reality, and emotionally intense but non-graphic imagery of burning/being on fire. Brief but experienced by POV character. Character is looked after.  
> Check the end notes for summary/more details, as usual, but below the dashes here I'll put one last vague content warning that is slightly spoilery and I think is unlikely to be triggering, but which I'm including for safety's sake and for anyone who gets very distressed by cliffhangers in fic.  
> ////  
> Cliffhanger ending involving non-POV character in psychological distress/physical pain. Character is not alone and - it can be deduced - will be very soon looked after. More detail in endnotes.

Todd wakes up the next day, three hours after his Wednesday shift was due to start. His head aches from crying and hyperventilating, and his eyes are raw and stinging. The night before he’d recovered enough to turn off the bath, shortly after the tub overflowed and partially flooded the bathroom. Unable to face cleaning it up properly, he’d thrown a towel over the mess and then crawled into bed fully dressed. He couldn’t sleep, though. Instead he’d just laid awake playing mindless games on his phone into the early hours of the morning.

It was the only thing he could do not to think about it. He could only distract himself from his conscious thoughts, the constant loop of horrible realizations playing in his head. All the while he still felt the physical pain of it, burning hot and cold in his chest. Now that it’s late morning the pain is still there, but dulled and sitting heavily on his heart, which feels like butchered meat.

Todd doesn’t go into work that day. After another interminable amount of time lying in bed, held in the paralysis of all the lingering horror in his brain, Todd only gets up to use the toilet. He raids the fridge for comfort food and ends up back in bed, a quickly emptying can of Pringles balanced on his chest next to his laptop as he tries to numb his brain in any way he can.

He opens Netflix, but the first thing he sees is _Queer Eye_ , and Dirk’s smile stabs its way into his mind.

_I was gonna ask him out today._

Todd tries to tamp down on the thoughts before they can form, but they swamp him too quickly – all his hopes and fantasies, the ideas he’d had for their date, the things he wanted to do with Dirk. The things he had hoped Dirk wanted to do with him.

For a brief moment, Todd seriously considers going back to the bath store. Maybe there’s still a chance – maybe it’s like one of those movies Amanda used to force him to watch when she was sick. Maybe Dirk just _started_ flirting with Todd as a bet, but then he really started to fall in love with him too and –

 _Listen to yourself_ , says the nasty voice, reigning strong and acidic in his mind.  _You’re not in a teen rom-com. You fucking idiot._

Todd swallows the sour pain in his throat and turns on _Arrested Development_ instead. Maybe he can avoid thinking about his latest fuck-up if he watches the Bluth family be even bigger fuck-ups than he is. Even if it didn’t remind him of Dirk, Todd wouldn’t be able to stomach _Queer Eye_ right now. The Fab Five probably aren’t any more real than Michael Bluth and his siblings – and even if they were, Todd definitely would have disappointed them.

 

* * *

 

By Friday the 14th, Todd’s beginning to think that maybe the Universe doesn’t want him to forget Dirk. Todd probably isn’t supposed to forget that he’s being punished, and that’s why every time he turns on the television, ads for Valentine’s Day specials scream into his apartment. When he opens up Netflix instead, he’s recommended a barrage of romantic comedies. He ends up drawing his curtains shut, because despite the overcast sky, the light feels too glaring against his stinging eyes.

So the apartment is dark and quiet again. The air is beginning to grow stale. Todd threw out all the bath bombs on Thursday morning, and it’s been too cold to let any fresh air in since then. The flood on the floor of the bathroom has only half-evaporated, and the sodden towel still covering the mess is starting to smell bad.

Todd wants to laugh, because Nathan was right – probably even more right than he realized. It was only a matter of time until Todd broke down again. He’d thought he was really changing – isn’t that hilarious? He’d thought he was _getting_ _better_. He’d wasted time cleaning his apartment up, he threw away his money on things like clothes and face cream when he should have just admitted to himself exactly what the people around him already knew – that he was just another fucked-up loser like everyone else.

And what did it take to break Todd’s supposedly super-strong resolve to better himself? One pretty boy who tricked Todd into putting him on a pedestal.

Todd wants to be angry at Dirk. He really, really wishes he could rage at him, call him a dickhead, call him a jerk – someone who tried to ruin Todd for no discernible reason, possibly out of nothing but boredom. He wants to go back to the store and confront Dirk, call him out in front of everyone and tell him to his face what a monster he is – but Todd can’t.

Todd can’t even rage against Dirk in the confines of his own mind. He can’t find it in him to be angry at Dirk at all. He just … _misses_ Dirk. He misses talking to him, touching him, standing too close to him. He misses the way Dirk smells and the way his hair flops over his forehead, and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Todd misses everything, so much, and it hurts all the more whenever he remembers that none of it was actually real, just a performance, and that the person Todd is missing probably doesn’t exist. And maybe Todd will never find someone like that again.

And then he thinks of all the memories that used to make him so happy, and which now make him feel sick to his stomach. The pressure of Dirk’s chest against his; Dirk’s lips just touching the curve of his ear and Dirk’s voice filling his mind. Three days ago they fueled every daydream, now they’re repainted in the harsh colors of Todd’s humiliation. He’d thought himself so smooth, so cool – flirtatious, even – but Dirk had been laughing at him the whole time. The moments he’d spent drying Dirk’s hands for him so, so carefully, when he’d felt like there was something unspeakably beautiful strung between them, connecting them – Todd had thought that Dirk felt it too, but he was wrong. Wrong, wrong, fucking _wrong_.

And now here’s Todd, alone. Alone in his shitty apartment, because the Universe decided it was time to remind him that assholes don’t deserve nice things.

 

* * *

 

Friday continues to pass with inexorable slowness. Todd is being driven mad by it. He wants it over. He wants to move onto the part where he can return to bitterness, accept defeat, and forget that any of this ever happened.

Amanda texts him in the late afternoon, and Todd calls her without even reading the message first.

She sounds surprised when she picks up the call. “Um, okay. You could just text back, but sure, whatever …”

“Do you need me?” It sounds desperate even to Todd’s ears. God, he hates himself.

Amanda pauses. The line crackles slightly with her movement. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” Todd tries to force nonchalance into his voice, but his voice is cracked from crying so much, as well as disuse. He hasn’t left the apartment since Tuesday, much less gone to work and actually spoken to people. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

Amanda doesn’t reply for a long moment, long enough for Todd to feel guilty. He’s lying again. The thing is, the truth is more than ugly this time. It’s humiliating too.

“Todd. What’s going on?”

“What? Nothing. I’m all good,” he insists. “Did you need something?”

She pauses again, doubtfully, and Todd holds his breath. After a while, she speaks again, and she sounds tired.

“Yeah, I … I was wondering if you’d be free to come by soon and help with the grocery run, I need to pick up –”

“Grocery run!” Todd repeats with so much forced enthusiasm that he knows it’s not remotely believable. “Sure. I’ll be over quick as I can, just give me ten minutes.”

“Not – not like, right now –”

Todd hangs up before she can decline the offer. Pulling himself up off the floor for his own sake? Not happening. Doing it because his sister needs him? Todd will always be ready to do that, even if it’s just to help her pick up tampons and packet noodles.

Todd’s aware that he probably stinks to high heaven and looks even worse. He doesn’t want to worry Amanda, so for the first time since Tuesday he’s able to convince himself into a shower. It’s just a quick one, but he does feel physically better at least once he’s in fresh clothes. He almost pulls on the white bomber jacket, the one he bought to impress Dirk, because Todd does like it and Amanda hasn’t seen it yet. He feels sick at the last second, though. He grabs one of his ratty old winter coats instead.

By all rights the winter should be on its way out, but it’s Seattle, so the rain batters away at the car roof. It’s hammering at Amanda’s front windows too when Todd picks her up. It’s cold and wet enough to be a bit risky to take her out, but Todd only realizes that once she’s already in the car, and he knows from experience that there’s no convincing her to go back inside once she’s left the house.

Todd spends half the car ride to Aldi worrying that he’s been selfish again. Maybe he’s forced Amanda out of the house when she really needs to rest, just so he can be bolstered by the illusion that he’s helping her.

“My manicure was that bad, huh?” Amanda’s voice calls him back to the present.

“Wh- huh?”

She points at his hands, clutching the steering wheel. The blue on the nails is mostly gone; he picked it off between Thursday and this morning in spates of anger and self-loathing.

“Oh, right, yeah. Had to come off for work,” he lies. Another wave of guilt.

“Jeez. I knew your boss was an asshole, but … yikes, whatever.”

Todd’s guilt pushes at him, starts to fill him inside from one little white lie.

“Yeah,” he says aloud. He shrugs, even though it makes him feel like Nathan. “Asshole.”

Once they get inside the grocery store, Todd begins to realize that he has indeed made a horrible mistake – but not for the reason he originally assumed.

The store is bedecked in ads for Valentine’s Day. Even though it’s the late afternoon now, the flower area at the front of the checkout row is still brimming with dozens upon dozens of red roses, and small piles of teddy bears cuddling stuffed hearts are still grouped nearby, along with a collection of pink and red balloons.

“Ugh. V-Day.” Amanda has entered the store behind him. “Totally forgot about it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Todd says. “Me too.”

More lies. More guilt. They simmer under Todd’s skin while he walks the aisles behind Amanda, carrying the basket for her. She talks about some show she saw, and this or that recipe she wants to try, forming a one-sided conversation that Todd’s brain is incapable of properly understanding. He nods and hums at all the right moments, going through the motions of being there for her. On the inside he feels, once again, that he’s failing her.

He can’t even do this right. What was the point of forcing them both out of their respective homes, if all he’s going to do is drag his feet and wallow in his own pain – pain that he deserves to be feeling, he reminds himself.

Todd looks at his sister out of the corner of his eye, anxiously checking her face. She’s talking still, but he can’t seem to hear her. The heat of his own guilt is still bubbling inside him, and it blocks out everything else. Amanda is just another elusive sky above a sea pinning him down; another thing Todd just can’t seem to reach. And maybe he doesn’t deserve to.

They’re at the checkout before Todd is at all cognizant of finishing up. They didn’t pick up much, and he suspects that has something to do with Amanda knowing that he won’t let her pay for it. He’ll drop some notes in the key bowl in her hallway after he takes her home, anyway.

He’s already pulling out his wallet, ignoring Amanda’s thin protests at his side, when the voice of the checkout clerk filters into his brain properly.

“… Comes to $30.90, sir.”

‘ _Sir_.’

Dirk never even bothered to ask his name.

He really never cared at all. He really was just a monster.

“Todd?”

Amanda is talking to him, but Todd is stuck. Over the past two and a half days, he’s been finding that every time he thinks he’s about to numb into an equilibrium, a new thing breaks inside of him at some reminder of Dirk, and more feelings come rushing out to flood him again. And now, here in the middle of the grocery check-out, yet another piece of Todd has snapped.

Todd has heard, in the past, that the second stage of grief is anger. Maybe grief is the word for what he feels over the discovery of Dirk’s betrayal – because right now, Todd’s finally found his anger.

And quickly Todd realizes that even though he’s angry with Dirk, that anger is really just another way that Todd’s angry with himself. It’s a burning kind of anger, too. It’s hot where everything has been cold. It scorches through his veins in a flash, and it makes every voice inside his head scream, “ _How could you do this to me?”_

_How could you do this when I thought you were better than that?_

_I thought you were kinder, warmer – I thought you were nothing like me._

_How could you lie to me the way I lied, how could you let me down when I was starting think that life could be more than that?_

“Sir?”

“Todd, y-you’re bleeding.”

Todd feels a distant sensation in his finger. He’s been clenching his car keys too tightly in one hand, so tightly that the sharp edge has managed to slice a tiny cut into his finger, and it stings. First it just stings, but then it burns – just like the anger. It picks up and it roars and twists into the silent fury inside him. Now he’s angry at Dirk for more things.

 _I hate this. I_ hate _feeling this. Six months ago I wouldn’t have felt anything at all._

_It was better then._

_I can’t even control myself anymore, and it’s all your fault._

Self-care, wind-down routines, waking up after a good night’s sleep and going to bed full of love. It had all ruined Todd for anything less.

Amanda pulls out a tissue and tries to stem the flow of blood, but the burning only spreads. It feels like Todd’s whole hand is on fire, or maybe it’s just his body entirely. He hasn’t felt an anger like this in years, an anger so fueled by betrayal and disappointment and hurt.

Amanda is mumbling something to the clerk, handing over money and rushing Todd off to the side with her groceries, but Todd is too engulfed in his own fury to do anything about it. He knows without feeling it that Amanda’s arm is around him, and he wants to tell her to get away from him before she catches fire too. Can’t she see he’s only going to burn her?

 

* * *

 

It’s ironic, really, that Todd was worried Amanda would get hurt by the trip to the grocery store, when he’s the one who ends up having another breakdown. She gets him out of there in record time, though – buckles him into the car and even manages to drive them both back to his apartment while he sobs like a useless fucking thing in the passenger seat. It’s sheer luck they don’t get pulled over, because Amanda never really finished getting her license.

“Come on, short stuff,” she says as she heaves him out of the car and up the stairs.

By now the fire of Todd’s anger has died away, leaving an ashen kind of exhaustion in its wake, as if what little energy he had has been burned away in a single, brief blaze that did nothing to actually satisfy all the hurt inside him. Now Todd just feels shaky and bitter, though he’s still disoriented enough that when they finally get into his apartment, and he hears a low whistling noise, it takes him a second to realize that Amanda made it.

“Dude. You cleaned up in here?”

She staggers over to the bed with him, and once he’s lowered onto his side, he sees her looking around the space with an amazement that feels entirely unjustified. The place is a mess. He’s got dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter, and his clothes are still lying abandoned on the floor of the open bathroom, along with the wet towel.

“Okay, lowkey though, it looks awesome.” Amanda admires the paper screen separating his bed from the living space. “Where’d you find this? I want one.”

It takes Todd a few moments to find the words to speak with. It’s even harder to get them out of his mouth properly. “… Looks like shit. Haven’t cleaned … in days.”

Amanda stands over him, eyebrows raised. “Todd, this is like … This is _so_ much better than the last time I came over. Did you do this before Christmas?”

“… Sorta.”

She sits down next to him. “You’ve done a good job.”

Todd hates the softness in her eyes. He rolls over, though it’s a struggle that costs him the remainder of his dignity.

“Pfft. Fine, be that way.”

He feels another small wave of guilt as Amanda leaves his side, moving away across the apartment. It’s almost soothing, to have the guilt back. The guilt is familiar. It’s cold enough to temper the lingering feeling of anger simmering in Todd’s chest.

“Um. Todd? You know there’s a towel on your bathroom floor that smells like dead rats, right?”

Todd wants to shove his head into his pillow in embarrassment, but he’s not quite capable of that much movement yet.

“Todd?”

“It’s _fine_ , Manda, just …” He realizes he’s snapping at her halfway through the sentence, and it peters out into a vague groan. “Just leave it. I’ll deal with it later.”

He can hear her making some sort of gesture at his back – her clothes are rustling. He ignores her. He feels exhausted. He hasn’t slept properly since Monday night, and it’s beginning to take a serious toll – he knows this, and yet he spent all of last night on his phone again playing every variant of a mix ‘n’ match game he had. He brought the whole … moment at the grocery store on himself, and on Amanda too, when he should have been more responsible than that. He’s the big brother. He’s meant to be the one who has his shit together. What good is he if he can’t even drive Amanda to the store to get some groceries?

And god. The way everyone had stared. Look at the sad little man crying over a tiny cut – they would have thought he was a fucking nutcase.

Todd has always hated having people look at him. There’s always been something deeply unsettling in the thought that people take him in, think something of him, and make some sort of judgment on it. Being perceived – isn’t that just the worst shit ever?

Especially when Todd has spent the last decade or so struggling to perceive himself. He had tried to construct something, in these last couple of months, something that he could look at in the mirror and … if not feel proud of, feel that it was something he knew. Something he _understood_ , and recognized as his own. Something beyond just … another thing to be ashamed of. And then Tuesday had showed him that all of that meant jack shit, and that regardless of effort or self-conception, people would look at him and make their own judgements anyway, and would still find him wanting. The self he had tried to piece together – that counted for absolutely nothing.

And now he’s just tired. If his self is a cliff face, Todd wants nothing more than to just let it sink into the sea and never been seen again. He just wants to disappear, into his bedcovers and the grime of his apartment, the clothes he hates and the job that makes him miserable. If he’s nothing more than a non-entity then maybe people will stop looking at him.

And fucking hell, the way Dirk used to look at him. The way Dirk’s eyes would fill with light, as if Todd was something worth looking at forever – as if Todd _was_ something, _someone_. As if the things that Dirk saw in him were more beautiful than Todd could even imagine.

Being perceived by Dirk: the actual worst shit ever, it turns out. Because Dirk hadn’t seen beautiful things at all. God only knows what Dirk had seen, but apparently it had been something along the lines of, “now this guy looks like an absolute fucking sucker.”

In midst of his bitterness, Todd’s ears slowly begin to pick up on the sound of running water. Something clatters and clinks in the kitchen; he rolls over.

Amanda is washing his dishes.

“Hey, no – that’s …” Todd is halfway across the room before he even stops to think that he won’t be able to get up. When he finds himself standing, he has another moment of guilt, because clearly he’s fine and doesn’t need to be lying around in bed while his kid sister does his chores for him.

“Dude, what the shit, get back to bed!”

“No. No, I’m fine,” Todd says, right before he topples into a dining chair. He hits the floor along with the fallen chair, jolting his arm painfully.

Instantly, Amanda is at his side, still wearing rubber gloves covered in dish suds. “Okay, okay – we’re okay, right? Just hold still …”

“No – I’m fine, I was fine until I thought about it, it’s my fault …”

“No, you were fine until the blood finished rushing to your head and you lost your balance.” She gives him a fierce look. “ _Don’t_ say it’s your fault, or I’ll hit you with a wet glove.”

Todd tries to get up, but his legs refuse to co-operate, and then Amanda grabs him by the shoulders to hold him in place.

“Dude, just sit _still_ for a minute.”

“No, I can get up, I’m probably just being dramatic –”

“Todd, please, for the love of god,” she begs him, and Todd is alarmed to see her eyes are bright with tears, “just _sit_. For _five seconds_ , okay? You don’t need to hurt yourself.”

Todd slumps against the table, avoiding her gaze. “I gotta do the dishes.”

Amanda shakes her head, “I’m doing them.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?!”

It takes Todd a few seconds to reply. “… I’m – I’m meant to. I’m the one who’s meant to look after you. I’m your brother.”

“Yeah,” she says, “and I’m your sister. I can look after you too.”

“No, you can’t,” he replies thoughtlessly, then, seeing the anger in Amanda’s raised eyebrows, quickly tries to amend. “I just mean, you’re sick, and –”

“You’re sick too!”

“You _know_ what I mean.”

“What? That you don’t deserve help like I do?”

Todd almost laughs. “Of course I don’t!”

Amanda sits back. She looks wracked with something, and Todd doesn’t realize for a long moment that she’s not upset with him, but _for_ him.

“You know that’s not true,” she says, her voice breaking.

Todd can’t look at her. He’s made his sister cry, again. He’s even worse than useless.

He hears the other dining chair scrape against the floor as she leans back against it; she moves her legs out so she can sag down opposite him. There’s a wet squeak, and in his peripheral vision Todd sees that she’s pulling the gloves off her hands with the same tired bitterness that he feels. He’s infected her.

“Amanda …”

She interrupts him with short, harsh breath of air. “I can’t believe … I really thought things were turning around. I thought we were past this whole thing, like … I thought we were getting better.” Todd can see her trying to hold back tears. “I was actually kinda proud of you, you know? For the first time in … what felt like forever.”

He doesn’t say anything. He owes her more than apologies at this point, and he knows it. The silence stretches out, and the longer it lasts the further the distance between them seems to span. He’s screwed it up. They’re slipping away from each other again.

Todd looks down at the scraps of electric blue that still cling to his nails. He’d been so busy scratching off the nail polish and miring in his self-hatred that he’d forgotten – Amanda was the one who painted it on for him. She’d done just about the shittiest job ever, because she’s always been crap at painting nails, but she’d done it with love. How had he found a way to take that for granted, after everything that had happened these past few years? After how long it had taken to get Amanda to smile at him again, let alone do something like paint his nails and watch TV with him on a rainy afternoon.

“You’re not a liar anymore, Todd,” Amanda says quietly. “So. You gonna tell me what’s going on, or what?”

After everything Todd’s done, after everything they’ve been through, Amanda still loves him. That’s enough. That has to be enough. And if one good thing can come out of Todd’s latest mistakes, it has to be this.

Todd’s done with letting her down.

Amanda is sighing and moving to get up, but Todd stops her.

“Wait.” He struggles to find the right words. “I … I’ve been – You’re right, I’ve been lying to you again. Sort of.” He’s watching her face, and he sees it fall in real-time. “No, I mean – not like …”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Todd …”

“No, no – listen, not …”

“You promised me. You said no more lies, no secrets –”

“I haven’t been lying like that, I just – haven’t been telling you the truth about – about what’s been going on with me.”

She watches him warily. Todd can tell that’s she ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, and that if she does she’ll run straight out the door and he might never see her again. He has to choose his words carefully, because he’s only got one shot.

“I …” His voice is failing him. He doesn’t even know where to start. He looks at his chipped nails. “Okay, so. I did lie today. About the manicure – it’s not that I had to take it off for work, I just … picked it off myself.”

Amanda relaxes slightly, though now she looks like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or to punch him. “Fuck, okay – is that it? White lies about whether or not you like my nail polish doesn’t count, dickwad, you scared the shit out of me –”

“It’s not that I didn’t like the nail polish, it’s that I don’t like myself – I hate myself,” Todd blurts out.

Amanda stares at him.

“And – and I did know it was Valentine’s Day today. I’ve known about it for weeks.”

“O-kay …” she says slowly. “But, wait – you …? Todd …”

“That’s all the actual lies. But I’ve also been … There’s been stuff I haven’t talked about with you, because I didn’t want to upset you. I thought I could just … you know, just keep going. Keep being there for you whenever you needed me. But I’m so …” His voice sticks in his throat, it burns like his anger did, “I’m so fucking useless, Amanda, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Amanda is still staring at him, and her expression is full of a terrible sadness. “Todd. You still …? I thought we talked about all this. It’s been years. I told you – I forgave you years ago.”

“But _I_ can’t forgive myself!” Todd exclaims. “I can’t, I shouldn’t. I’m not – I don’t deserve that. I know you forgave me for lying to you about pararibulitis, I know you just wanted to move on, but I couldn’t – and I just kept pretending I had! I just kept acting like we could go back to the way we were before, but I felt … I felt like _shit_. Every single day. I hated myself so much, and if I ever stopped hating myself, that was bad too, because I had to remember what I’d done, because what if I just ended up doing it again? I wanted things to get better for you, but they couldn’t ever get better for me, and I didn’t even know how to tell you that! Isn’t that lying too?!”

“But things _were_ getting better!” Amanda’s just as frustrated as he is, Todd sees in her eyes, in the tears that are beginning to fall down her face. “Of course we weren’t gonna just go back to the way we were – you can’t just fix things like that! But we were getting better – _you_ were getting better. You were doing so well, you _asshole_!”

She kicks at him, and Todd almost dodges her instinctively, then stops himself. Her kick hits him square in the stomach, probably harder than she meant it to.

“Shit!” she cries out angrily. “Todd! For fuck’s sake! Stop punishing yourself, you’re not – It’s not like you’re even that person anymore!”

“I’m not anyone else either,” Todd croaks, clutching his stomach.

“You’re my brother!” Amanda shouts at him. “And you’re my best friend in the whole stupid world, and I love you!”

With a cry of rage, she seizes one of the wet rubber gloves and starts pelting him with it. The glove flails against his arm and face, and Todd splutters as dishwater ends up in his mouth and streaked across his cheek, mingling comically with his own messy tears.

“Am-Amanda!” He tries to push her away. “Stop it!”

“No! Fuck you!” She just hits him even more. “Fuck your self-hating bullshit! I’m not – gonna – stop – hitting you – until – you – _love yourself_!”

Todd isn’t sure when he starts laughing and sobbing at the same time, but he does. Amanda’s doing it too, though it’s harder to tell from the noises she’s making. Dish suds land on the floor and in Todd’s hair. Amanda swears at him, even though her aim’s going wonky and a second later the glove flies out of her hand on a back-swing and goes soaring over the kitchen counter. It hits the cabinets with a damp, deeply ridiculous ‘ _plop’_ and slides wetly to the floor.

Todd is laughing so hard through his tears, all broken and hysterical. He’s still sobbing, and his eyes are stinging, and his heart aches – and suddenly Amanda is throwing herself into what’s got to be the angriest hug she’s ever given him. Her fists curl into his coat as if they want nothing more than to pummel him.

They sit in that hug, crying and laughing into each other’s shoulders, hugging each other tighter than they have done for over six years. After a while the hiccupping laughter gives way to a teary, sniffly quiet, and the hug gets uncomfortable because the chair leg is jabbing into Todd’s side. He flops back on the floor, taking Amanda with him, limpet-style, the way he used to do when she was six.

Amanda tells him his breath stinks, and then rolls off and lies next to him. In unison they wipe at their faces. It’s another while before Amanda speaks again.

“I don’t want you to hate yourself.”

Todd looks at her. She’s gazing up at the smoke-stains on his ceiling.

“I mean. I kinda did. For a bit,” she says. “But that was years ago, after you first told us. I don’t still feel like that. I thought you’d stopped feeling like that too.” She turns on her side, regarding him with the same sad expression from before. “What happened? You … you were doing really good. You cleaned this place up, you even started doing your hair and shit …”

Todd turns his head back to the ceiling stains with a defeated sigh. “That … wasn’t really me. I just … I was trying to impress this guy.”

There’s a beat.

“ _The_ guy?”

“ _The_ guy,” he confirms gloomily.

“Bath store Jesus guy?”

Todd looks back at her in surprise. “… Yeah.” He’s almost impressed with her detective skills. “How did you know?”

“Todd.” She levels a dry look at him. “I’ve had time to think about it. Like. No offence, dude, but you’re obvious as shit.”

“How? I didn’t …” Todd had never talked about Dirk, or at least, he’d actively tried not to. Whatever Amanda might think, he’s actually aware that he’s always been obvious about the people he liked. Painfully aware, in fact.

“You didn’t have to talk about him, I could see it in your stupid face,” she says with a small grin. “Every time you came over and you had this fucking – big dumb smile on your face, and I’d ask what you’d got up to that day, you’d always say you’d just come from the bath store.”

So, he’d been that obvious. Todd tries not to pull a face.

Amanda sees him cringing, and she nudges him with her foot. “Plus, he’s the only guy you’ve mentioned in the last six months, and you never get out apart from work, so. You know. Pretty safe bet.”

Todd snorts, “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” She nudges him again, though this time it’s more of an affectionate kick. “So?”

“So, what?”

“So, what happened? I’m guessing something happened. Did you ask him out?”

Todd makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a vaguely unhappy laugh.

“That bad?” She winces. “He’s straight?”

“He’s …” Todd sighs again, and that sound, too, is unhappy. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him, really.”

“Okay … You know his name?”

“Dirk.” Not even three days since Todd’s said it aloud and it feels like a relic from a lost lifetime.

Amanda’s silent, and Todd realizes belatedly that he sighed again – sighed Dirk’s name like some kind of fucking …

“I don’t really know anything else,” he says hurriedly, trying to fill the air with something other than _that_. “He … I think …” Todd takes a deep breath, letting himself sag into the floorboards. “Okay. The whole time I’ve been going there, I thought … I actually sorta thought he was flirting with me. But …”

“Dude, your self-esteem …”

“No, I _know_ he wasn’t. I found out on Tuesday.”

Amanda looks like she wants to interrupt, but she doesn’t. She just pulls a skeptical face as he continues.

“I went there. I was gonna ask him out, finally – I’ve been gearing up to it for like, months. I even tried a couple of times before but it didn’t take, which obviously now I know was because …” He swallows. “Anyway. I was gonna ask him out for Valentine’s.”

The look on Amanda’s face turns into a laughing grimace, “Shit, no – really?”

“Shut up,” Todd groans.

She quietens, somewhat chastened. “… Go on.”

“I get there. Dirk isn’t there. This other guy is there, another one of the employees. We start talking and all this stuff comes out, about how Dirk …” Todd stumbles here; he has to take another breath, “… already has a girlfriend.”

“… Shit.” Amanda shifts, digesting this. “Okay, but … If he’s been flirting with you, maybe it’s a poly thing and –”

“No, it’s not. It’s – The other guy told me, it was just a joke. Dirk and his girlfriend, Mona, they just … They like pranking people, and they thought it would be … funny, I guess, to have Dirk flirt with me and like …”

“Lead you on?”

Todd shuts his eyes. “Yeah.”

“… I don’t get it.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“So,” she says, nudging him again. “Tell me.”

Todd turns his head to look at her. She’s still lying on her side, one arm tucked under her head, and the image of her reminds him suddenly of their old ‘sleepovers,’ when Amanda would sneak into his room after one of her nightmares. She’d poke him in the side until he rolled over enough to let her in, and then she’d stare at him like a little weirdo, eyes all puffy from crying and her bangs all mussed. She always said Mom would baby her, and Dad would smother her, but Todd – Todd used to sing “O Children” under his breath until she fell asleep again.

Now she looks at him with a wry half-smile that he recognizes. He used to see it in the mirror all the time.

“Listen,” she says, “in the last couple of months we’ve been … not the way we were before but, like – I don’t know. Good. Better. I really missed just being able to hang out with you. Not having you pull your punches all the time. We were … close, and I’d missed that.” The smile fades. “You know the thing I hated most? About you lying?”

Todd tries not to tense up. “What?”

“It was that you weren’t _you_ anymore. You were this whole other person I didn’t even know. This stranger. And suddenly, like … My brother wasn’t there. And he’d always been there. I just wanted him back more than anything. And now … I don’t have the same brother back. But it’s like I said, you’re not that person anymore – the … stranger-person. You’re my brother again, just like …” Her brown eyes flicker over his face, and the smile returns for a moment. “… A better version. And that’s okay, because I think that would have happened anyway. I’m a different person too.”

Todd wants to argue with that, but he knows it too. He knows Amanda is a different person. He’s felt it, every time he’s failed to fall back into step with her.

“I was a kid, Todd,” she says, her eyes bright and sad again. “I was what, seventeen when I got pararibulitis? You were twenty-eight when you ‘fessed up? And now we’re twenty-three and thirty-four – like … We were always gonna grow up, we just didn’t get to do it together. And yeah, that sucks, but …” She smiles, even if it’s a bit wet. “We’re back now, aren’t we? All that other stuff, like – it’s done. It’s over. And I want us to just … be best friends again. Be happy together. Would be great if you’d let us.”

Todd can’t stop himself from saying, “You could do better.”

Amanda laughs, “No, I couldn’t.”

She gestures at the apartment, the rack of records by the window and the neatly stacked folders and books on the shelves, the paper screen around the bed and blankets on the couch.

“Who cleaned up this place?”

Todd hesitates. The nasty voice opens its mouth inside his head, but Amanda kicks Todd in the shins before it can say anything.

“ _Who_?”

“Ow – jeez, me.”

“You did,” she says staunchly. “Not Dirk or anyone else. You said you just did it to impress him, I don’t think it’s _just_ that, but whatever – _you did it_. You started looking after yourself, you started getting your life back together. That’s not easy. I know.” She shakes her head bitterly. “Trust me, I know. It feels like I’m always trying to get my life back together and every week I fall down again. But you … like – Seeing you get better made me feel like I could too. You were … You were someone who … _inspired_ me again. Don’t you get how much that means to me?”

A lump rises in Todd’s throat. His heart is aching again, but it’s almost in a good way.

“You were the person who did all this. You’ve been trying, and it’s been worth it. _You’re_ worth it.”

Todd looks at her, seeing the eight-year-old kid layered over the twenty-three-year-old woman, both of them one of the best people he’s ever met.

“… You’ve … grown up a lot.” Todd’s pretty sure that he sounds stupid, but he’s also pretty sure the thing clogging up his throat is pride, so stupid is okay.

Amanda smiles the Brotzman wry-half-smile. “Yeah. No shit. Now tell me everything.”

 

* * *

 

It takes nearly an hour to tell Amanda everything. By the time Todd finishes, they’re both sitting up, leaning against the back of the couch, and Todd’s butt is more than a little numb from the hard floorboards.

Amanda has listened with uncharacteristic quiet for the most part, asking the occasional question when Todd inevitably gets tangled up in the details. Now she sits back with her arms propped up on her knees, visibly thinking over everything he’s just told her.

“… That sounds … fucked.”

Todd laughs tiredly, rubbing at his face with stiff hands. “Yeah.”

“No, it sounds fucked. As in … stupid.” Amanda raises her eyebrows at him, and says slowly, “I think … Dude, I hate to be that guy, but I think maybe you’re freaking out over, like – a misunderstanding.”

“No, it’s not – Hugo wasn’t lying, he –”

“But he didn’t say he knew Dirk was pranking you,” she says. “He just said Dirk and Mona prank _him_. There’s a big difference between flicking water at someone you work with and full-on gaslighting a customer for what, half a year? And you said Dirk gave you free stuff. Wouldn’t that have come out of his pay?”

“Well – yeah,” Todd admits, “but that was just to keep me interested.”

“But weren’t there like, a billion other things he could have done to ‘keep you interested’ that didn’t cost him money, though? Also, come on – it’s risky doing shit like that once, let alone constantly, for – again – _half a year_. He could’ve lost his job.”

“But if Panto was in on it too –”

“No, yeah – that just makes it weirder. Like.” Amanda folds her legs, shifting enough to face him properly. “Okay, maybe I can buy that there’s a dude and his girlfriend who like screwing with people, and they _randomly_ chose to screw with you even though you didn’t even piss them off. But, one – why would you even do that at work, where you could mess up your business? Two – why would a manager be okay with you ruining stock and giving it away for free just so you can keep the joke going? Especially when, like I said, he could’ve done something else. Like actually ask you on a date, and then stand you up – but make an excuse and reschedule, and do it again and again. Or … I don’t know, get your number off you and start sending you fake dick pics, or something?”

“A- _manda_ …”

“No, seriously. There are a ton of ways he could’ve kept you on your toes and gotten a laugh out of it too. The bath bombs thing would’ve been stupid, and it cost him money. Those things aren’t cheap when they add up.” She shoots Todd a pointed look. “Yeah – I know how much money you’ve been spending on me.”

“How –”

“They have a website, dipshit, I worked it out.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, more on that later.” Amanda shakes her head, “Anyway, none of this whole ‘prank’ thing makes sense. You thought Bart was making fun of you, but … What if she was just …? You know. Making fun of you as in actually making fun of her brother? I mean, I would totally do the same shit if I met Dirk. ‘Do you have a crush on my bro?’ That’s like, a classic little sister move. And with Mona too – maybe her laughing and stuff was just the same kind of thing: just making fun of Dirk, because – wild idea, I know – Dirk does actually like you.”

Amanda’s right – that is a wild idea. That idea’s so wild that Todd can’t even look at it side-on.

Amanda’s watching him consider it, though, with a twist to her mouth that suggests she’s holding back a smile. Still, her eyes are a little sad when she says, “You’ve convinced yourself that everyone was making fun of you, but there’s no actual proof that they were. And like – again, no offense … but you’re the touchiest guy I know.”

He bristles on automatic. “Okay, fuck off.”

“See?”

That just makes Todd bristle even more, “Fuck _off_.”

“Dude,” Amanda laughs, “I don’t think he was pranking you. I think he likes you. And if you were wrong about the pranking thing …” She shrugs. “Maybe you were wrong about the girlfriend thing too?”

The little voice, which has been eerily silent for nearly three days, echoes Amanda’s words. _Maybe. Maybe. Maybe?_

“No,” Todd starts to say, “Hugo said –”

“Who the fuck is Hugo?” Amanda snorts dismissively. “You don't know Hugo. You know Dirk. They’re both just guys that you met at a bath store, but you met Hugo once and have apparently been following Dirk around like a puppy for six months. I think we can guess which one you’re more likely to have a good read on. And look, I don’t know … Maybe Dirk and Mona are just - touchy friends who cuddle loads, or maybe they are in some kind of relationship, but Dirk would still like to be with you too. Isn’t it worth at least asking him?”

Todd tries to think on this, but only finds that he doesn’t know what to think. His feelings on everything Amanda’s saying are so intensely mixed that he can’t sort them out in one sitting.

“Todd.” Amanda does the sibling equivalent of softly putting a hand over his – she knees him gently in the leg. “You don’t know, is what I’m saying. And maybe I’m wrong, but …” She bites her lip. “To me, this all just sounds like … you panicking about – having feelings, and finding excuses for your excuses so you can run away from the whole thing.”

A part of him wants to shrivel the moment she says it, because it hits a nail that Todd didn’t even know existed squarely on the head. Suddenly he feels stupid and ashamed, and too ‘seen’ for comfort, because his sister worked out he was just being a coward again before he even suspected it. But also …

“I know it’s not just that,” Amanda says, before Todd can even form the words in his mind, “I get it. You’re freaked out by the whole … What Hugo said and Bart and – like, I know you get … stressed about things like …”

Todd is eternally grateful that she doesn’t actually say ‘love,’ even if he can see it hovering on the tip of her tongue.

“I know it’s a whole thing for you. That’s okay. It’s not your fault that you get freaked out by it. But you can’t let it …” She pulls a face, as if trying to find the right words to put her thoughts to. “It’s like – like remember how I said ages ago, about the bath bombs being, okay, yeah, kinda more dangerous for me than other people. But how they were also something that made me happy, and made me – like, they helped me too. So they were worth it. And how I couldn’t just lock myself away from everything that might hurt me, because let’s be real – almost everything can hurt me. Remember that?”

“Yeah …?”

“Dirk’s like bath bombs. For you.”

 _Dirk’s … like bath bombs_ , echoes the little voice ponderously. _And maybe … Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Dirk …_

Todd paces around the thought internally, warily looking it over. He allows himself to think of Dirk consciously, for the first time since Tuesday. He thinks of the first time Dirk took his hand, how soft Dirk’s palm was. He thinks of the thing he’d seen in Dirk’s eyes at times, the thing he’d always had a hard time placing. He allows himself to think that maybe it was vulnerability.

_Maybe. Possibly … Dirk feels …_

If not the same way – because Todd can’t even – god, the thought of Dirk feeling as stupidly in love as Todd does is absolutely laughable, but maybe there’s a possibility that Dirk doesn’t feel outright revulsion or contempt. Maybe, even if Dirk doesn’t feel romantically towards him, they could at least be friends. And Todd could see Dirk’s stupid, lovely crinkly-eyed smile again.

“Todd. Todd.” Amanda’s actually snapping her fingers in front of his face.

Todd feels his cheeks burn. “Right, yeah, sorry …”

She just gives him an exasperated, albeit affectionate look. “Listen. We’re not fixing this tonight, because we can’t. But I _am_ gonna help you find out what’s going on, and trust me, if it turns out he’s been lying to you, I _will_ beat his little twink ass.”

A laugh is startled out of Todd, one which he stifles quickly. Amanda’s fixing him with yet another unimpressed stare.

He tries not to look like he’s obviously sweating under her gaze. “You don’t even know that he’s a twink.”

“Todd, man.” She’s never sounded so condescending, not even the time she learned the “Moby Dick” drum solo in under a week and scored herself fifty bucks from their bet. “Your types are Amazon Lady and Twink. There is no in-between. I know this. I’ve come to accept it. So should you.”

Before Todd can do more than splutter an inarticulate protest, Amanda’s getting up and stretching.

“For tonight, we’re forgetting about him,” she announces. “You got any ice cream?”

“It’s February –”

“You got any ice cream?”

Todd huffs. “Yes.”

“Mm’kay. We’re gonna eat the whole tub and watch _Ella Enchanted_. Then, tomorrow, I’m gonna help you clean up and we’re gonna ring the hotel and tell them you’re taking a break.”

“But –”

Amanda points a very pointed finger at him, pointedly. “You’ve got like, over a fortnight of sick leave saved up, asshole. Don’t think I don’t know. You’re gonna use it. Tonight is for Anne Hathaway, Hugh Dancy, and Ben ‘n’ Jerry. Don’t argue. You know I’m right.”

Todd looks up at her, and for the first time in days he feels a real smile break over his face. “That … actually sounds perfect,” he admits.

Amanda grins back at him. “We’re gonna get you feeling better again. And then we’re gonna go deal with your bath store boy.”

She puts out a hand. Todd takes it, and she helps him to his feet again.

 

* * *

 

Todd spends the next week with Amanda, doing nothing except doing nothing.

When he makes aloud observation of this to Amanda, she punches him in the arm.

“Ow!”

“We are _not_ ‘doing nothing,’” she says, squatting back down in front of the oven. “We cleaned on the weekend.”

“Yeah, and now it’s nearly the weekend again, and we’ve just been lazing around my apartment watching Anne Hathaway movies and baking.”

“Exactly, we’re living our lives as God originally intended.”

“That’s not – You don’t even – God, it’s times like this I’m mad that Mom didn’t make you go to Sunday school too.”

Amanda flips her middle finger at him without even turning around.

The oven dings. Amanda transitions from flipping the bird into making a grabby hand for an oven mitt without even pausing. Todd makes a disgruntled noise, but he passes her the glove anyway.

“Seriously, though,” he says, once they’ve unplugged their ears to protect themselves from the screeching of the oven door, “shouldn’t we be … doing something? Like. I don’t know. You said I should start getting ready to apply for another job, right? Shouldn’t I be doing that?”

“Yeah, but not now.”

“When?”

“I dunno. Next week.” She shrugs as she checks the muffins with a fork. “This week isn’t for resumes and applications. This week is Anne Hathers and brownies week.”

“And what made you decide that?” Todd asks, with no small amount of amusement.

“‘Cause, she’s like, the only celebrity where our bisexual-ness actually intersects. She’s tall enough to obliterate you, but she also looks like Aphrodite enough for me, so …”

“Oh my god, I _mean_ ,” Todd says over her, “aren’t we wasting time? Like – Okay, the movies and the baking and stuff is – don’t get me wrong, it’s great. I just feel like …”

“Like what?” She spins around to cock an eyebrow at him. “Like you have to be doing something to do with work, or getting you ready for work?”

“No,” snaps Todd, even though the little voice in his head is saying, _well, yes_. “I mean – I just haven’t been productive. At all.”

Amanda gives him an incredulous look. “Dude, you’ve written like, three songs. You’ve been practicing guitar every day. You are _literally_ producing stuff.”

Todd shifts uncomfortably. “That doesn’t count. They’re just … They’re really derivative of –”

“Oh my god, it doesn’t matter, they sound _good_ , and you’re practicing! How does that not count?”

“Well. It’s not like …” He forces a half-laugh, “Come on, it’s like I’d ever … do that again. Professionally, I mean. As a career.”

“So?”

“So, it’s … It’s not being productive.”

“Okay, shut up.” Amanda glares at him. “Just because you can’t make money from it, doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile.”

Todd has to stop himself from squirming under that look. He moves to pick up the fork, and hopefully pick up a different topic of conversation, but she stops him at the wrist.

“Todd,” she says, more softly. “I _get_ the whole … feeling like you’re being a ‘bad’ chronically ill person thing. But you don’t owe the people around you some debt of labor just for existing.”

Todd stares at her, swallowing around the tight feeling that’s just come back into his throat. She releases him and grabs the fork with another brief but stern glare in his direction.

“In this apartment we say ‘Fuck The Internalization Of Capitalism’s Demands On Our Time.’ Now be a goddamn punk and eat your chocolate muffins.”

 

* * *

 

A few days later Amanda, who’s been nosing around his apartment between helping out with dishes and creating more dishes, opens up Todd’s closet and is promptly horrified.

“Dude, is this it?”

Todd looks over from his bed, where he’s lying on his back in the afternoon sun and trying to get the right chord progression down for a chorus he can hear in his mind.

“What?”

“Where are your other clothes? You have other clothes, right?”

“Uh.” Todd makes the mistake of avoiding her gaze, and Amanda is onto him within seconds.

When she finds out that he’s been abstaining from getting himself anything more than a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans, a short and not very vehement shouting match ensues. It turns out that back when he was debating about it, he’d been right on the money about Amanda’s stance on owning clothes that made him feel happy.

Soon he finds himself bullied out of his apartment and into the car, and all the way into the nearest Target. Not quite the nearest one, really – the nearest one is in the same mall where Dirk works, but Todd apparently goes green at the thought of even risking being in the same space as him, because Amanda quickly allows him to take a left across town.

“I can’t believe you,” she fumes as she stalks the aisles of the menswear section.

“Are – are you genuinely pissed that I just have a small wardrobe?” Todd’s trying not to laugh, because Amanda’s anger is always either hilarious and adorable, or terrifying and awe-inspiring, and when it’s this harmless it’s the former. “There’s nothing wrong with a small wardrobe.”

“Yeah, not three shirts and a jacket, though, Jesus Christ, dude. If you can afford to get me two baths bombs a week, you can totally afford a second pair of good jeans and a winter coat.”

“I can layer.”

“Shut up, Tan France, it’s the middle of February.” Amanda pinches the bridge of her nose, looking pained. “Can you just … Like, can you just live your fucking life and stop worrying about whether or not you deserve to? Because I can’t keep hanging around, telling you you’re allowed to.”

That wipes the grin off Todd’s face. “Sorry, I …”

“No, no,” she hastens to interrupt him, “you’re not a burden, you’re – ugh. Goddamn. Look, you’ll understand when you’re older.”

She continues on down a row of shirts, and Todd narrows his eyes at her.

“… You’re – really annoying.”

“Thanks, love you too. How about this flannel, you still like flannels?”

Todd pretends to consider the red and puce plaid she’s holding up. “Some. That one’s fuckin’ ugly though,” he says, unable to stop himself from snorting into laughter.

Amanda swears at him and hits him around the head with the offending shirt, muffling Todd’s laughter at the source. Todd sees the blow coming though; he grabs her around the head and pulls her into a headlock.

“Fuck you! Get off!”

“Respect your elders.”

“I’m gonna make you try on the leopard print jeans,” she threatens.

Todd snorts again, “‘Manda. There’s nothing on _earth_ that would make me try on those stupid fucking jeans.”

 

* * *

 

It takes a while, but soon enough, Todd is feeling … a lot less horrible. Amanda ends up staying for nearly a fortnight, and Todd feels more at home around her than he has for nearly ten years. After Anne Hathaway and baking week Amanda lets him work on his resume a bit, and drags him out to clubs occasionally to break up what she calls, “the capitalist monotony.” Drinking a shit-ton to subpar house music isn’t anywhere near as fun as Todd remembers it being, for a few different reasons, but Amanda seems to be having a good time. There are other things that make going out with Amanda kind of worth the obvious risks, anyway; it’s a reason for Todd to get himself into his new clothes and start to feel more at home in them, too. The third time they go out he even attracts a bit of attention, which feels … flattering, even if all he can think of is still Dirk. Just Dirk.

After the first two weeks Amanda goes home, and on his first night alone Todd is more than a little terrified that he’s going to fall back into the sea of his own demons again. He compensates by putting on some of his loudest records to drown out the anxiety thrumming in the back of his chest. It works – or at least, it works enough for him to get to bed at reasonable hour that night.

Things pick back up. Todd goes around to Amanda’s again just a couple of days after she leaves, not because he needs it, or she needs it, but just because he wants to hang out with her. They jam in her garage, and yeah, she has an attack from the vibration of the drumsticks against her palms, but when she’s tucked up in a blanket on the couch she fist-bumps him and shoots him a weary grin.

“Worth it,” she rasps, and he doesn’t think she’s ever been more badass.

A bit over three weeks after the shittiest Tuesday of Todd’s life, it’s a chilly Friday night and he and Amanda are at his apartment. Two empty dinner plates, now thoroughly clean of pasta, are sitting on the coffee table. Amanda is lying on the couch, squinting at her phone, while Todd sits between the couch and the coffee table, also on his phone. To an outside observer they probably look like a Baby Boomer’s nightmare, but Amanda’s reading an article from _The New Yorker_ , and Todd’s typing out lyrics in his notes app.

“Not to sound like an anti-fa,” she says into the silence, “but what if we just … sucked Trump’s soul out through his eyeballs?”

Todd, who’s halfway through trying to decide whether ‘auburn’ or ‘russet’ is a more accurate descriptor, and also which one is less totally whipped, doesn’t reply for a long moment.

“Todd. Trump’s soul. Out through the eyeballs?”

“Eh. Doesn’t have one, probably.”

“What, an eyeball?”

“A soul. Hey, just quick, how many water metaphors is too many? No, don’t –”

Too late. Amanda’s already leaning over his shoulder to peer at his screen. “O-ho-ho … _Toddy_ …”

“Shut up.” He locks his phone a second before she grabs it. “Too slow.”

Amanda, with great poise, shrieks and chucks the phone back at him in frustration.

“Ow!” Todd gets up, one hand over his now smarting cheekbone. “Thanks, goblin.”

Amanda snickers as he makes his way over to the kitchen for an obligatory 8PM pointless stare into the fridge.

“You want dessert?" he asks her. "There’s no ice cream left.” When she doesn’t reply he realizes that she’s ominously silent. He glances at her, and jumps at what he sees. “Oh, holy shit.”

She’s staring at him over the back of the couch, her eyes beadily fixed on him.

“You’re such a fucking … _cryptid_ …”

“Teach me how to make Hot Bean juice,” she says.

Todd blinks in surprise. “Why?”

Amanda is quiet for a second, before saying in a small voice, “… So I can make it for you.”

“But …” Todd feels wrong-footed, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. He can feel something moving, though, changing for good. “But I’m the one who makes it for you.”

She sits up. “Yeah. You were. But I wanna make it for you too.”

He clears his throat, edging back from the feeling of change; it’s a precipice he’s not at all sure about. “It’s … You don’t need to, the recipe is really basic, I probably don’t even need to teach you – I can make it for myself –”

“No,” says Amanda, “I wanna make it for you. And I want you to teach me how to make it.”

Todd looks across the apartment at her. He feels the change hanging in the air, like a shift in atmospheric pressure.

“It’s a family recipe now, right?” she shrugs.

“I … Okay.”

So Todd teaches Amanda how to make the hot chocolate he’s been making for her since she was three – longer, probably, than she can actually remember. He shows her how to pace it all perfectly, so that the ingredients come together at just the right time, at just the right temperature. He shows her when to add spices, or peppermint essence, if she wants it, and how to stop the chocolate from burning on the stove. It’s not rocket science, but it feels like magic. It’s always felt like magic.

When Todd takes the first sip of the batch they made together, he feels the change come through, the one he was afraid of, but it’s beautiful. Sad, too, because now things won’t ever be the way they were before. But the change is good – he feels it in his gut. And the hot chocolate is the best he’s ever tasted.

“You’re …” Todd’s voice sticks a little in his throat, but Amanda stirs her hot chocolate as if she doesn’t notice. “You’re really good at looking after me.”

She smiles. “The pupil has become the master.”

They return to the couch and retreat, with identical gruffness, to the privacy of their phones. Todd stares down at the lyrics in his notes app, and amongst the quiet happiness of the moment he feels a pang in his heart.

He wonders what Dirk’s doing now.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Amanda drains the last of her mug and sits up, tucking her phone away in her hoodie.

“Okay, get dressed, Romeo,” she says, with zero preamble. “We’re going to the bath store now.”

“What?” Todd’s voice does more than crack – it jumps up an entire octave. “No. Tonight? No. No way. You mean _tonight_ -tonight? Right now? No.”

“ _Uh-um-bluh-blah_ – Yes, tonight.” Amanda stands, stretching her limbs like a cat waking up from a nap.

“No, Manda, I’m – I’m not ready, I haven’t –”

“You think we’ve got time to wait until you’re ready? The dude’s gonna die of old age before that happens.”

“But –”

“It’s been three weeks, my guy,” she says, hauling him to his feet and frog-marching him towards his closet. “You’re back on top. You look great. Or – like, you look as okay as you ever look.”

“Hey …”

“And you’ve got some fresh clothes, I got you to shower this afternoon; you’re gonna kill it. Or, you know. At least you’re as close to probably killing it as you’ll ever be.”

Amanda doesn’t wait to hear either Todd’s further protests or his offense – she’s pulling open his closet and swiping a suspiciously pre-gathered-looking bundle of clothes from the top shelf. She shoves them into his chest.

“Bathroom. Now.”

“Amanda, it’s nearly nine,” Todd stammers, “the store’s probably shut –”

“Isn’t. I checked.” She waggles her phone in his face, long enough for him to see the words ‘opening hours’ on the screen. “Late night shopping, bitch. And you said he’s rostered on every Friday.”

Todd glares at her. “… You planned this.”

“Yeah, I did,” she levels back at him, “and you can thank me later. Now go change.”

It’s hard to focus on styling his hair right when Todd feels like he’s going to keel over at any moment, but somehow he manages it. When he re-emerges from the bathroom, dressed in what Amanda picked out for him – which, thankfully, is a better selection than what she offered in Target – he sees an alarming sight.

Amanda is sitting on the arm of the couch. That’s not very alarming; what’s alarming is the fact that she’s produced a large, heavy-looking baseball bat from nowhere and is now thumping it into her hand like a cartoon mobster.

“What the …”

“Here’s the plan,” she says firmly. “We go there. You go in. You ask him  _what the fuck is up, Kyle_? If he’s being a dick, you text me. I come in. I deal with him.”

“Where did you even get that?”

She jumps off the couch, Doc Martens hitting the floor with a thump loud enough to raise hell, or at least Todd’s downstairs neighbors. “The fuck you think I got it? Finishing school? I have interests outside helping you get a boyfriend, nerd.”

Todd tries not to splutter again. “You’re the nerd.”

“No, _you’re_ – ugh,” she points the baseball bat at him, “just get your dang car keys, Todd. We’re going. Now.”

 

* * *

 

The mall parking lot is nearly deserted when they pull in. Most of the stores will be closing in the next ten minutes, and the only other cars in the lot probably belong to cinema patrons.

“Sure you can’t come in?” Todd says, only half-joking.

Amanda undoes her seatbelt and swings her feet up on the dash. Todd’s stretched too taut with anxiety right now to stop her, which is almost definitely why she’s doing it.

“I’ll be out here playing _Kwazy Kupcakes_. You can text me if you need me, else I’ll come check on you if you’re not back in half an hour.”

Todd undoes his seatbelt. He eyes the baseball bat lying across the back seat. “You weren’t – serious. About beating him up.”

“I make no promises,” says Amanda, already engrossed in her game.

Todd checks his hair in the rearview mirror. Then he checks his face in the wing mirror. He starts opening the car door, as slowly as physically possible.

“Todd, _go_!”

Todd is shoved out of the car quicker than he can open his mouth to make up an excuse. He straightens up, fixes his bomber jacket, and starts uncertainly towards the mall entrance.

The car window winds down behind him. “If you don’t hurry it up I’m comin’ in with you and I’m doing the mic bit!”

Todd hurries it up. He hurries it up all the way into the mall, through the empty food court, and down the familiar path to the bath store. As he goes his stomach twists and turns over itself with nerves that only grow heavier and heavier with every step he takes. Pre-emptively, he tries to think of what to say.

_Hey, so, I know talking openly hasn’t been our style, but were you flirting with me these last six months or were you just playing a really fucked up prank on me?_

_Hey, so, Mona. Girlfriend, or …?_

_Hey, so. I’m kind of in love with you. Any chance you could come to feel the same way?_

Todd imagines walking in, seeing Dirk at the counter, or ducked over one of the bath bomb crates. Maybe he doesn’t see Todd at first. Maybe he just hears someone come in, says, “Sorry, we’re closing.” Maybe Todd pulls him into his arms, and into a kiss –

Probably not.

(“Sir,” says Imaginary Dirk, looking up at him with flushed cheeks, “this is so unlike you.”

“I’m a badass now, Dirk,” says Imaginary Todd, and swoops down for another kiss.)

Definitely not.

Todd’s shaken out of cringing at himself for what isn’t the first and certainly won’t be the last time, when he comes upon the bath store and – through the window, partially obscured by the soap display shelves – he sees Dirk for the first time in weeks.

Todd’s thoughts scatter into nothingness at the sight of him. Pulse beating wilder than Amanda on her drumkit, Todd hides himself behind the soap shelves enough for Dirk not to notice him. His heart is more than aching, it’s crying out; it feels like it’s trying to reach out through his chest and into the store to Dirk. In that moment it’s a little insane to Todd that he managed to deny that he loved Dirk for as long as he did.

Dirk is at the checkout, but he isn’t alone; he’s dealing with what seems to be the last group of straggling customers. It’s strange to see Dirk moving around like a real person when he’s started to feel like a dream, or some sort of nightmare. What’s even stranger is that Dirk … doesn’t look like himself. Not quite. Maybe Todd’s memory of him just made him more like a beautiful, elusive demi-god than he is to plain sight, but no – it’s …

Dirk, despite being covered in glitter at all times and a little ruffled around the edges, has never looked anything less than impeccably groomed and bright-eyed. Right now, he looks _exhausted_. Ill, even. There are dark bags under his eyes and hints of a patchy shadow around his jawline. His hair is a mess, and, bereft of its usual wrap, it hangs limply in front of the tortoise-shell glasses he’s wearing, though occasionally he runs a hand into his bangs to push it back. He moves with none of his usual exuberance, giving only brief, pale imitations of his smile to the customers as he wraps up their purchases.

All at once Todd’s head is a flurry of voices, little and nasty and in-between.

_He looks terrible._

_No, he doesn’t –_

_Yes, he does, Jesus – are you seeing him right now …?_

_Serves him right._

_Maybe this is the real him, then._

_He’s wearing glasses._

_Is he sick?_

_He’s so pale._

_I missed him so much._

_Is he sick because he missed me too?_

_His glasses. His_ glasses _– he looks so fucking cute._

_Did he even notice I was gone?_

_I love him. I love him – god –_

As Todd stands there outside the store, unable to walk away but unable to move forward, Dirk finishes up with the customers. They filter out of the store, and Todd instinctively presses back against the window as if he can camouflage into it. A couple of the women stop chattering as they see him, and one shoots him a slightly nervous, strained smile as she goes past – the one that says, ‘ _oh god, grown man hanging around outside a store at night, please don’t look at me_.’

Todd tries to smile stiffly and totally avoid eye contact at the same time, and while he’s attempting that acrobatic feat, there’s a loud clanging noise from within the bath store, closely followed by the sound of Dirk’s voice breaking as he shouts.

“FUCK!”

Todd snaps his gaze back to the window. Dirk is standing near the one of the stands usually used for demos, with an upturned metal bowl at his feet and his face twisted into an expression of immense, overwhelming pain. His shoulders are tensed high and his hands are fluttering helplessly against his ears, his eyes screwing shut and opening over and over as if he’s too paralyzed with agony to do anything else.

So that clears one thing up, very, very quickly. Dirk’s family does have pararibulitis. And apparently his sister isn’t the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (DISSOCIATION, BURNING IMAGERY, HAND INJURY:) While grocery shopping with Amanda, Todd is triggered by feelings of guilt plus seeing Valentine's Day merchandise. He spirals into an episode of psychological distress during which he is truly angry at Dirk for the first time and angry at himself for trusting/falling for Dirk. He also accidentally gets a small cut on his finger from his car keys, and the stinging plus the anger manifests as a feeling of burning/being on fire. Amanda looks after Todd. Starts after Todd and Amanda arrive at "Aldi" and see the V-Day merch, ends with page break.  
> (REF. TO INTERNALISED ABLEISM:) After breaking down in public, although Amanda looks after him, Todd thinks briefly about the humiliation he feels in situations like that, linked in with his baggage about being observed and judged by others. He feels guilt over making Amanda look after him, feels useless for being incapacitated, etc. When he realises Amanda is washing his dishes he gets up, and from there Amanda starts to actively counter-act/argue against his internalised ableism feelings and does so again later in the chapter when he voices guilt for taking sick leave from work.  
> (CLIFFHANGER ENDING:) Chapter ends with Todd seeing Dirk in ambiguous but clearly intense pain/distress after a loud noise. Todd interprets it as the onset of a pararibulitis attack. Although Dirk doesn't realise that Todd is nearby at the time, Todd is in a state of mind where it's fairly clear to the reader that Todd wouldn't leave Dirk alone - and minor spoiler //////  
> obviously Todd is going to run in and help him.  
> ////end spoiler
> 
> Some fairly important plot stuff happens in this chapter which would be a lot to summarise here, so I wouldn't recommend skipping the chapter entirely, and I do promise that probably apart from the scene in the grocery store - which is brief and skippable - the intensity of this chapter is about the same as the one where Todd cleans his bathroom at its angstiest points and platonically fluffy at others. Again though, if you feel you need to leave this story entirely, or would like to wait until next week for the last chapter, please feel absolutely free to do so <3
> 
> Btw, the line "In This Apartment We Say Fuck The Internalization of Capitalism's Demands On Our Time" is lifted verbatim from something my sibling said to me. If you think that's funny, check out [their fics](https://redgoldblue.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing) (oh god they've written so many).
> 
> Having got all that out of the way - PHEW! One more chapter to go, then an epilogue. Please, as always, leave a review if you have Feelings to Share, are a returning lengthy-reviewer with constructive crit, or would like to wish me happy gays for my seventh yr anniversary with my partner this Saturday (no one will know which!)  
> (Yes, I've made that joke before. Yes, doing so again was an excuse to point at my partner excitedly going "seven years! seven years she's put up with my tomfoolery!!!" Anyway stream [gallantrejoinder's fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder). We've [co-written](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18716500/chapters/44390869) [some](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766162) [DGHDA ones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692173). She lights a magic light-bulb in my heart.)  
> ///end gay shilling


	12. All Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd and Dirk finally, finally talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings!  
> Our wordcount for this chapter is a whopping 16K!!! [looks at my 3K first chapter and winces]. Careful with your hyperfocus, if you too can spend a whole day without even trying.  
> CONTENT WARNINGS:  
> Non-graphic depiction of an attack experienced by non-POV character, similar to Mona's in C9. Character is looked after throughout and recovers quickly.  
> Brief display of 'every-day' ableism from minor antagonist towards non-POV character. Both non-POV character and POV character basically tell them to fuck off.  
> Mild references to internalised ableism experienced by non-POV character, argued against/comforted by POV character.  
> Details in the endnotes as always!

Todd rushes into the bath store, nearly knocking his head against the roll-down barrier, which has been partially closed to stop more customers coming in. He reaches Dirk’s side just in time to catch him as Dirk’s knees buckle and he crumples towards the ground.

“Dirk! Dirk, I’ve got you. You’re not alone, it’s okay.”

Todd lowers Dirk unsteadily to the floor and goes straight into the mode of action his mom taught him to help with Amanda’s attacks. He checks Dirk’s breathing to make sure he’s not choking or drowning, gets him into the recovery position, and keeps two fingers on his pulse. Apart from that Todd abstains from any contact, although it’s even harder than it usually is with Amanda.

Todd wants to touch Dirk. He wants to smooth back his hair, pull him back into his arms and hold him tightly until whatever Dirk’s seeing and feeling goes away. But Todd knows – he knows from experience – that at the outset of an attack, too much sensory stimulus can make it much worse.

Todd leaves Dirk’s side only for a second, to run behind the counter and turn the store music off in the backroom. When he returns, Dirk is still lying on his side, his hands plugging his ears and his eyes shut tight. He’s not hyperventilating, which is a good sign, but his breath is coming unevenly, and he’s shaking slightly, as if every muscle in his body is tensed.

Still, Todd has seen worse attacks. Dirk’s not screaming, his breath hasn’t stopped, and most significantly, he’s not by himself. The attack will pass.

And after a while, it seems to. Dirk’s breathing slows, and even though tears are dripping down the bridge of his nose, his jaw starts to unclench.

Todd takes that as the cue to move onto the next stage – trying to replace the lingering sensory hallucination with something simple but comforting. He grabs a towel from the stand next to them. Amanda always complains that tears tickle really weirdly when you can’t wipe them away, and Todd has also found that to be true.

“Dirk?” he whispers. “I’m gonna wipe your face, okay?”

With utmost care, and slowly enough that Dirk can stop him if he needs to, Todd pulls Dirk’s crooked glasses off and sets them to one side. He cleans the worst of the tears off Dirk’s face. Then, with the same careful, slow movements, he puts his hand on Dirk’s upper arm, where his skin is covered by his shirt, and squeezes very gently.

Todd keeps the pressure up as Dirk’s breathing becomes more and more even. He tries his best to keep it steady, to be an anchor. He stops for a second when Dirk’s shoulders quiver, but soon it becomes clear that Dirk is just crying quietly, in a limp, relieved kind of way that makes Todd think the worst is probably over.

“You wanna sit up or stay lying down?”

“… Si-ahp.” Dirk’s voice cracked and hoarse, like he’s been tensing his vocal chords too. “Si- si- Sit. U-uh – uh …” He can’t seem to get the words out, but Todd knows how that feels.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it. I’m gonna pull you up, okay?”

Dirk nods shakily. Todd scoops an arm under Dirk’s shoulders and helps him up, though maybe a bit too soon, because he has to steady Dirk’s weight against his chest almost immediately. Dirk is about half a head taller than him, so that makes things a bit tricky, but Todd is determined not to let him fall.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, Dirk. You’re okay.”

Dirk makes a squeaking, choking sound, as though the air in his lung is stopping and starting like a faulty car engine. He’s trying to talk again, but Todd can’t decipher the words.

“Y-y-you … gnome-mey … mm-nn – aim-muh …?” It unmistakably ends in a question, but it also seems to include the word ‘gnomey.’

Todd kind of hopes it doesn’t, because he’s not _that_ short.

“Dirk, it’s alright,” he tries to soothe him, “you don’t have to talk yet. Just … focus on breathing, okay?”

Todd pulls Dirk closer against his chest. For a split second he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t, even now the danger has passed – maybe it’s taking advantage – but then Dirk sighs a sniffly, sad sigh and buries his damp face in Todd’s neck.

_God. Please don’t be messing with me._

_He started having the attack before he even saw me._

_What if he did see you?_ says the nasty voice.

Sometimes, Todd has to wonder at just how far that voice tries to stretch his disbelief.

 _What, in the two seconds my eyes weren’t glued to him? Yeah, I don’t think so._ It’s a thought so scathing that even the nasty voice seems to shrink back into itself a little.

Dirk, meanwhile, has raised a shaking hand to Todd’s chest and grasped a fistful of his shirt as if searching for more anchors. Todd is more than willing to give them to him; he puts his hand over Dirk’s, pressing it onto his own chest and over his heart.

 _It’s yours_ , he wants to say. _Yours, if you want it._

Now really isn’t the time for that, but Todd’s heart is thumping anyway, and Dirk sighs again into Todd’s neck, sending a little chorus of shivers down Todd’s spine. It’s a lighter sigh now, with the faintest, most stomach-flipping hint of a groan behind it.

Todd knows, really, that this shouldn’t feel as heartrendingly romantic as it does. For one thing, Dirk’s probably just seeking a bit of human comfort, and for another, Dirk is kind of a hot mess right now, in more ways than one. His hair, while not anywhere near disgusting, is a bit stringy. Todd’s pretty sure there’s an enormous pimple sitting squarely on Dirk’s cheek, too. Instead of smelling like honey, the way he usually does, he just smells like _person_ – not bad, but not flowery either. He obviously hasn’t been sleeping well, at the very least, and it’s possible that he can’t see properly right now without his glasses.

Todd’s never loved him so much, so overwhelmingly, in a single instant.

Finally, after five, maybe ten minutes, Dirk raises his head from Todd’s neck. He leans his forehead against Todd’s temple instead, and his breath brushes against Todd’s cheek as he speaks, his voice still creaking slightly.

“Y-y-you … Y-you kno-ow …” Dirk pushes his way through the sentence with determination, “Y-you know m-my … my name.”

Todd experiences a brief moment of total bewilderment as his brain struggles to understand what Dirk’s just said. Of course Todd knows his name. Why would Dirk be amazed by that?

Then, with a ‘ _thwap’_ not unlike the sound the rubber glove made when Amanda hit Todd in the face with it three weeks ago, Todd realizes … It’s possible he’s never actually used Dirk’s name. Not to his face. He’d avoided it  automatically at first, because sure, most employees have a nametag but Todd’s not the kind of person with the charm and confidence to carry off actually addressing an employee by name without sounding like his dad talking to the KFC drive-through girl. Now that Todd actually thinks about it, he can’t remember actually kicking the habit of avoiding calling Dirk by name.

_Shit._

_Oh, nice job, idiot boy._

“Y-yeah – yes, Dirk. Yes, I know your name, I …” Todd has to laugh. “I know it, oh my god, trust me, I do, Dirk. I’m sorry, Dirk.” And now he’s overcompensating. “I mean, you’ve been serving me for months, how could I not know it? I just didn’t use it ‘cause … I felt – stupid? I guess?”

Dirk pulls back, and his face, though still a bit wet, looks very affronted now. “Y-you’re not! Not st-stupid. Not …”

Todd feels a smile pulling at his mouth, “How do you know I’m not stupid? You don’t even know me, really.”

Dirk’s hand clenches over Todd’s heart.

“I … I f-feel like I do,” he says, quietly.

Todd looks over Dirk’s face, so close to his. He looks at every tear-track, every line and shadow, the pink staining the tip of his nose and under his eyes. Dirk bears every hallmark of someone who hasn’t slept properly in weeks, who’s probably dehydrated and not eating properly and has only showered enough to keep themselves to the bare minimum of hygiene standards because anything else has felt like more than they can handle. Todd recognizes the signs.

And Todd feels that rock-solid certainty he felt once before – the certainty he felt after he tried to ask Dirk out. In hindsight, after his breakdown, it had seemed conceited and naïve, but no, now he feels it again, it feels more real than all his doubt. It’s like he just knows; he _knows_ in the pit of his stomach in a way that rings true, true in all the places where his anxiety only feels painful.

_There’s no way. There’s no way he lied to me._

“Dirk,” Todd murmurs, “I’m – I think I _have_ been stupid. Like … really, really stupid.”

Todd thinks about being in Dirk’s position. He imagines if their situations had been reversed – if Dirk had been a guest at the hotel, a repeat visitor, maybe, who Todd liked the moment he laid eyes on him. He imagines if, after six months of him trying to get Dirk’s attention, and finally seeming to succeed at that, Dirk had disappeared out of the blue. How would Todd feel, if Dirk just up and left for over three weeks, with no contact details left behind and no message as to whether Todd would ever see him again?

Todd remembers how his heart froze up, when, after just a couple of months of knowing Dirk, he’d thought that maybe he wouldn’t have an excuse to go to the bath store anymore. So, _that_ feeling – possibly _times_ the way Todd had felt as he lay on the floor of his apartment, crying and broken-hearted.

He pulls Dirk back in on reflex, and Dirk’s forehead bumps against his. Dirk lets out another sigh, and shuts his eyes, and Todd feels it in his heart as if Dirk’s eyelashes are connected to him by invisible strings.

“Dirk … I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to …”

“Hey, are you guys still open? I just wanted to – Oh!”

Dirk and Todd pull apart with a jolt, in time to see a customer staring down at them. The woman’s eyes move from Dirk, to Todd, to the bowl near them on the floor, and then up at something at the counter.

“Are you guys still open? The door wasn’t shut …” she says, in the slightly nasal, faux-apologetic drawl that Todd has come to associate with the worst hotel guests. “I just wanted to grab myself something, I’m _so_ sorry, I won’t take a minute. The movie just finished so late – I _never_ do this …”

Todd is about to say something – probably something rude but satisfying – but to his shock, Dirk beats him to it.

“F-fuck – _off_!”

“I’m _sorry_?”

Dirk struggles to get up, and Todd hastens to help him, but Dirk is quickly back on his feet without assistance, apparently fueled by sheer and total ‘ _fed-up_.’

“W-we are _closed_. Done. F-finished!” Dirk cries, with a quivering, sweeping wave of both hands. “For the ni-ight. N- _no_ more. No more _soaps_ , or – or _bombs_ , or b-bloody shampoo bars! You’re too late!”

The woman looks at Todd instead, with an expression that Todd hates as soon as he recognizes it.

“Is there something …?” She winces at Todd, as if Dirk has put a bad taste in her mouth. “Is he … _alright_?”

“Are _you_ ‘alright’?” he retorts. “You heard him. We’re closed.”

The woman draws her head back, inflating with indignation, and Todd thinks he’s going to have to physically shepherd her to the door. She seems to see that in his eyes though, because she turns on her heel and flounces away, her mouth pinched.

She stops at the door, hefting her sizable handbag on her shoulder. “Just so you know, I’ll be reporting you.”

Todd doesn’t bother to ask her who she thinks she’s going to report to. He meets her at the door, nudges her out, and pulls the heavy plastic barrier the rest of the way down until it hits the floor and blocks out her squawk of outrage. Her blurry shape lingers for a moment, clearly trying in vain to get the last word, but once she realizes that they can’t actually hear her, she moves off.

Todd’s never seen Dirk be anything but friendly, obliging, and almost overwhelmingly amiable towards his customers. He knows Dirk can be a little odd, and that he has a tendency to talk at length without much regard for conversation beats, but Todd never would have thought he’d get to witness Dirk actually tell a customer to fuck off. At least that definitely silences any lingering anxiety Todd has had about Dirk just being friendly to Todd for the sake of his job.

“That was … surprisingly badass of you,” Todd says as he turns back to Dirk, “I never thought you had that in …”

He trails off and lunges forward – Dirk had been halfway through picking up the metal bowl, but his hands are still shaking and it had started to slip. Todd manages to catch it just in time.

“Um …” He straightens, offering the bowl to Dirk with an attempt at a smile. “Gotcha?”

Dirk just stares at the bowl blankly, looking worn out to the very bone.

“Dirk?”

Dirk bites his lip and takes the bowl with both hands. There’s still something quivery and taut about his expression; he looks like he’s trying not to cry again.

_He’s embarrassed. About the attack._

“Hey, you know what she said was –”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so – I’m so stupid,” Dirk croaks.

“What? _No_ , no you’re not.”

“It’s th-these _stupid_ metal bowls – always hitting the fl-floor and – Hon-honestly, I hate the fucking things, I …” Dirk’s knuckles tighten on the bowl, and he makes an obvious effort to swallow and say, clearly and slowly, “It’s my fault. I should – I should be able to control this. By now.”

His voice is cold in an awful, vacant way, as are his eyes, still fixed downwards on his own reflection distorted in the metal.

Todd doesn’t like that expression at all. It has zero rights to be on Dirk’s face. There’s no way in hell Todd’s going to let anyone he loves look at their reflection with such dislike.

“No.” Todd pulls the bowl back from Dirk’s hands and sets it carefully on the stand. “That’s dumb.”

Dirk looks up, owlishly surprised, albeit in a slightly wet and teary kind of way. “Sorry?”

“That’s dumb. You can’t control it. That’s not how it works, and I’m betting you already know that.” He takes Dirk by the hand and pulls him towards the backroom. “Come on, show me where you keep the mops. I’m gonna help you.”

Dirk shows Todd to a closet in the back where the cleaning supplies are stored, and together they dig out a mop and bucket. They fill the latter with hot water from one of the sinks. Throughout it all Dirk is quiet, avoiding eye contact. Todd lets him be for a while, but when Dirk leans deep into the closet to reach for a bottle of floor cleaner, he speaks up again.

“You know what I mean, right?” Todd says to Dirk’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t … guilt yourself over it. Being sick, I mean. You can’t help it.”

Dirk stiffens at the word ‘sick.’ He doesn’t turn around, and his voice shakes with something different when he says, “I – I’m not ‘sick.’”

“Dirk, it’s okay. This is me you’re talking to, remember? I know what pararibulitis looks like.”

Dirk shuffles around, and in the small space their faces come close together – Todd looking up slightly, Dirk looking down over the bottle clutched in his hands. Todd is distracted by that, and by the way Dirk’s chin looks cutely weird and weirdly cute when folded like that, so he doesn’t see the puzzled look on Dirk’s face at first.

“What’s paro-ribalitus?”

Todd steps back. “Pararibulitis.”

“Para– Poraribu–”

“ _Para_ -ribulitis.”

“Pararibly-tus –”

“Para-ribu-li- _tis_ , Dirk!” Todd bursts out. “The disease you have, the thing our families have! You don’t know how to pronounce it?”

Dirk, if anything, looks even more confused. “But … I don’t have it. My family doesn’t have that. At least, not that I know of – honestly, they could have anything. But no – no, the ones I know, they don’t have it. I certainly don’t.”

“But …” Todd thinks back over the various conversations they’ve had about Amanda and her needs; he tries to remember exactly when Dirk had told him that pararibulitis ran in his family too – he _had_ said that, hadn’t he? On the day they met?

No. No, hold on.

Dirk hadn’t said that. Todd had started describing the symptoms, and Dirk had said, “my sister’s the same,” and something about it running in the family. He hadn’t actually specified that ‘ _it’_ was pararibulitis – and neither had Todd. Todd couldn’t actually remember any occasion he’d called pararibulitis by name. Once he’d assumed that Dirk knew about it, Todd had just talked around it, like they had talked around everything.

“I’ve … never heard of it, actually,” Dirk is saying.

 _Crap_.

And now Todd is filling with self-doubt again, because if he’d got that wrong then what else had he misjudged?

Dirk, too, is looking more than a little uneasy. He edges around Todd and past him, still clinging to the bottle of floor cleaner.

“I … I’m not sick,” he says again. “I’m just … I’m autistic. I have sensory problems; I get overloaded easily and then I can melt down. Usually I can – I try to just hold it in at work, especially because sometimes my sister needs me to cover for her, but … I had – I’ve been having a … I haven’t been sleeping properly.” There’s a long pause, during which Dirk’s eyes dart from Todd and down to the floor and back again. “I thought you knew. About me being autistic, I mean.”

Todd wants to reply, but his brain is still reeling a little from a rapid-fire series of reactions to what Dirk has just imparted; surprise, comprehension, acceptance – all quicker than Todd can really digest them.

_Autistic?_

_Well, that explains a lot._

The nasty voice, trying to get a word in, and promptly being sat on by just about every other voice in Todd’s head.

His brain has, apparently, once again accepted a revelation about Dirk as just another thing which probably makes Dirk the exact person Todd has fallen so stupidly in love with. It happens quicker than it probably should, but not quick enough for Todd to see the look of hurt on Dirk’s face before it deepens into panic.

Todd finds his voice, a little too late, “Wait, no – it’s not ….”

“You said Amanda had sensory problems. I thought …” Dirk pulls a face. “Well. I suppose I assumed … Oh, I’ve been stupid again, haven’t I?”

“No, of course you haven’t …”

Todd starts forward, but Dirk skitters back just slightly, just enough to make Todd stop in his tracks with another pang in his chest.

“It wasn’t just you,” Todd says, “I assumed too. I thought you knew about pararibulitis. And I thought you were having an attack just now – that’s what they look like. Only – I mean, usually they’re a lot worse.”

Dirk blanches. “Worse?”

“Yeah, they’re …”

Todd always hates explaining this part, but right now he’s discomfited for different reasons. He has a feeling that what he’s about to tell Dirk is going to horrify him, and maybe it’ll make Dirk rethink a lot of things very quickly. And also … Todd has no idea where to start. This isn’t how the script goes. He’s started in the middle and the end at the same time and doesn’t know what to say first.

He settles on saying, blandly, “They’re … violent. They’re – I guess they _are_ sensory problems? Like, it’s kinda the same thing, you get overloaded by something, but it doesn’t even have to be a big thing. It can be … wind. Sometimes even just – a small cut or something. But your head makes it into this – into something that’s kind of like that, but way worse and always really painful.”

Dirk looks back at him, his expression unreadable. “… Sometimes, when I – get overloaded, I feel like – well. You said it once. Like there are knives in my ears.”

“Yeah, it’s like that but – you actually …” God, Todd hates having to use this word, and pick up all the baggage it comes with, and hold it out in front of someone. “… You hallucinate that there _are_ knives. You … feel them. And you can’t tell the difference between that and reality, even though you know you’re having an attack, so it can’t be real.”

Todd is watching Dirk’s face, waiting for it to break out into horror, but the horror never really comes. A gentler version of it does appear, tempered by a fascination totally unlike the morbid interest some people take in pararibulitis.

“That sounds …” Dirk looks like he’s about to say something, but he stops himself as another thing occurs to him. “ _That’s_ what Amanda has? That’s why you were so scared the first time you bought her something – Oh my _god_ , I had no idea, what if I’d –”

“Dirk, no – you never picked out anything bad for her. You’re good at your job, remember, I said?” Todd tries to smile. “Yeah, a couple of times she had an attack, but she said starting a whole routine with having a bath really helped.”

Dirk still looks wary, and Todd’s heart begins to sink.

“I know I said ‘hallucinate’ and stuff but it’s not … It’s not like _Psycho_ , or – it’s not dangerous, it’s just being sick –”

“Oh, no – no, no, no …”

Dirk is the one who moves forwards now, almost reaching for Todd’s hands before either realizing that he’s still holding a bottle of floor cleaner, or perhaps thinking that Todd doesn’t want him to. Before Todd can correct him on that, Dirk is continuing.

“No, no, I thought – No, that’s not what I think at all, I was afraid you would think I was like … Rain Man, or – or a child, and you wouldn’t …”

Todd laughs at that, “Yeah, I _don’t_ think of you as a child, Dirk, trust me.”

He shuts his mouth, because that’s probably saying way too much, but Dirk is lighting up. All his wariness floats away and disappears.

“Oh, well.”

Dirk’s wearing one of Todd’s favorite smiles, the half-suppressed, shy one. Todd wants to kiss it until it expands into the one that looks like a summer sky.

“In that case … Thank you,” Dirk says, “for looking after me. And Mona too. That was what happened to her, the other week. You knew exactly what to do – we both thought …”

At the reminder of Mona, Todd feels his stomach drop with anxiety. He tries, and fails, not to feel bad about that.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

“It’s not nothing – I don’t know what we would have done without you. Then, or … or today.”

Dirk is looking at him oddly, with another one of his mixed-up, difficult-to-decipher expressions. It almost looks sad, though Todd can’t think why. He’s still trying to decipher everything else; how Mona fits into all this – why, if Dirk wasn’t messing with him, he would actually flirt with him in front of his girlfriend. Why, if Mona isn’t Dirk’s girlfriend, Dirk’s co-worker would be so convinced that she is. Unless Dirk wasn’t flirting with Todd at all – and _fuck_ , god, Todd’s just back at square one, isn’t he?

“I know that I’m not – I mean, you didn’t know. About the autism. And I thought you did, but now it’s probably all out of the blue, and …” Dirk sighs harshly, “and it’s my fault really because I’ve suppressed an overload _multiple_ times this week and now you just had to handle me having a total bloody breakdown over nothing, so I’m really –”

“Hey, no,” Todd frowns, “Stop that.”

“What?” Dirk looks panicked again.

“Stop talking like that. It’s not your fault, remember? Whether it’s pararibulitis, or autism – it’s the same, right? You can’t just – shut your needs in a closet and ignore them until they go away. They won’t go away. They’ll just get worse, and then you won’t be able to look after yourself _or_ the people you love.” It comes out in a rush, and Todd only really consciously wraps his head around the concepts as he puts them to words.

Of course it would take looking after someone _he_ loved for Todd to finally, truly understand what Karamo’s been preaching for four seasons of _Queer Eye_.

Dirk is staring at him with softening eyes. “That’s exactly what I wanted you see. For yourself, I mean. I made an idiot out of myself for months trying to make you see that.”

The past tense doesn’t escape the notice of Todd’s ever-anxious mind.

_Has he given up on me?_

_Of course he has. He must have? I abandoned him for three weeks. After I promised him I’d come back._

_And still he’s being kind to me._

“I – I know,” Todd says. “I’ve been … trying. I just felt like I … kind of – didn’t deserve nice things, I guess.”

“But …” Dirk frowns. “You do. All good people deserve nice things.”

Todd doesn’t say anything; he can’t, not to that. He hopes that Dirk won’t pick up on his reticence, but he does – of course he does.

“You know that, don’t you? That you’re good?” Dirk presses him.

Todd shrugs, trying to evade his gaze, “I’m … alright. You wanna go clean that floor? I’ll help.”

Before Dirk can respond, Todd takes the floor cleaner from him, grabs the mop leaning off to one side, and pushes past him to the door. As he heads back out to the store Todd hears the clatter and slosh of Dirk scooping up the bucket and giving chase.

“You _are_ good,” he’s insisting, “you’re nice, I always said you were!”

But the more he insists the guiltier Todd feels, because is this really how far he’s somehow managed to trick Dirk? It’s ironic, really, and Todd can appreciate that – after all the time he’s spent stricken with hurt and fear that Dirk wasn’t who he seemed, it turns out that of course, no, Todd is the liar. Todd is always the liar.

“And it’s not just me,” Dirk says adamantly as he catches up, setting the bucket at Todd’s feet, “Panto thinks so too, and Mona!”

_Would you still think I was nice if you knew how jealous I got just because some other guy made you laugh?_

_Would you still think I was so great if you knew what I’d done?_

“We all like you, _I_ like you, I think you’re the nicest person ever –”

“I’m not really a nice person,” Todd tries to tell him, but Dirk barely seems to hear it.

“You’re a good friend, you’re a good brother –”

“A good brother?” Todd scoffs. “I’m not. I’m just about the worst brother imaginable.”

Dirk smiles slightly, “I think we all think that sometimes, but …”

“No, seriously,” Todd shakes his head as he mixes cleaner into the bucket of water. “This isn’t, like, a self-hatred thing, it’s just fact. You think I’m so great to Amanda, but I’m not. I’ve done …” His mouth shuts itself, almost against his will. This is one of the last things he ever wanted to admit to Dirk.

But he has to, doesn’t he? If he ever wants anything to happen between them, Todd has to tell Dirk what he did.

He glances up, just to get one more glimpse of Dirk looking at him, full of trust and faith.

“Dirk, I did something really fucked up,” Todd says. “And now all the stuff I do, that you’re always saying is so sweet, and so nice? It’s just me trying to make up for what I did.”

Dirk patiently waits for him to explain, but Todd doesn’t. Todd can’t keep looking at him; he doesn’t think he could stand to watch the faith disappear from Dirk’s eyes. He plunges the mop into the water and focuses on wiping up the mess.

 _If he ever wanted you before_ , whispers the nasty voice, _he definitely won’t want you once he knows who you really are._

“What did you do?” Dirk asks.

Finally, Todd makes himself say it, even though the words feel like they’re burning his throat.

“I lied to her. About …” He considers speaking in euphemisms again, like they’ve always done. But he doesn’t get to hide from this. “I told her and our parents I had pararibulitis when I didn’t. I knew it ran in the family, and I needed an excuse for … something. I can’t even remember what. I was in college, failing all my classes, wanted to focus on the band again. I wanted money, I was too lazy to get a job. My parents said they’d send me money to pay for treatments. So, I lied.”

Even once it’s all out, Todd still keeps his eyes on swiping the mop across the floor, moving in figure-eights. He can feel Dirk staring at him. And worse, far worse, he can feel Dirk’s perception of him changing forever. He waits for Dirk to clear his throat and move away, perhaps make some excuse for Todd to leave. Todd’s almost ready to spare him with an excuse of his own when Dirk’s hand grips the handle of mop, just over Todd’s hold on it, bringing him to a halt.

“How many years ago was this?”

Todd is completely taken aback by the unexpected gentleness in Dirk’s voice. “How did you …?”

“I’m guessing it _was_ years ago,” says Dirk, and he doesn’t look horrified, or angry, or disgusted with him, “because the person I know right now wouldn’t do that.”

Todd jerks the handle out of Dirk’s hand. Horror and anger, he knows how to deal with those. The patience in Dirk’s face is too much for him. He has no idea how to feel about it. Shaken, he turns back to mopping the floor, but Dirk still doesn’t retreat.

“You want to make it right, don’t you?”

Todd’s grip on the handle tenses, “I can’t ever make it right.”

“Yes, you can,” Dirk shrugs, “start by telling her the truth.”

“I already _did_ , okay? I told her, I told Mom and Dad – just a couple of months after Amanda got diagnosed.” He knows he’s snapping, but he can’t seem to stop, even though Dirk isn’t the person he’s still angry with – and why doesn’t Dirk understand, why can’t he see how terrible this is? “It was already too late. The money was gone. They spent it all on me, and I wasted it. There was nothing left for Amanda. So I got that stupid bellhop job and tried to help – they wouldn’t let me for a couple of years. Dad didn’t even speak to me at first. Mom didn’t for three years. Amanda didn’t until a couple of years ago. I don’t blame any of them. I stole my bandmates’ equipment, too,” he adds, because he may as well confess everything now. “I sold it and reported it stolen, then I sent the money back to Dad so they could use it for Amanda. That’s why the band broke up – it was because I lied to them too. _That’s_ the kind of person I am, Dirk.”

Once again, he waits for Dirk to give up on him, for some part of any of this to finally be too much to be worth dealing with. But instead there’s only a deep, ambiguous quiet, until Dirk says:

“ _Is_ it, though?”

Dirk is leaning over the stand for the bath demos, and he’s – he’s _smiling_. Why the fuck is he smiling? He should be running for the hills.

“Don’t look at me like that,” says Dirk, raising his eyebrows. “I’m relieved, honestly. You made it sound like you’d …” He casts about, apparently for a crime worse than grifting your parents out of pure laziness and self-indulgence. “… _Murdered_ someone, or something.”

Todd stares at him in disbelief. “You don’t get it, this disease has killed in my family before. Or at least just totally fucked up lives. We had this aunt –”

“You said your parents are speaking to you again.”

“Well, now they are, but …”

“They’ve forgiven you, haven’t they?”

Todd grits his teeth. “That’s not – It doesn’t matter, I still –”

“Amanda’s forgiven you, hasn’t she?”

“Yes, but –”

“So, I don’t _really_ see what the problem is,” says Dirk, with infuriating calm. “You did something terrible, yes, but you did it years ago. You owned up to it. They forgave you.”

“They only forgave me because _I_ got it too!”

That shakes the unflappable look off Dirk’s face. He stands up. “You have it too?”

Todd hadn’t meant to tell him that. Todd never tells people that; he doesn’t like even admitting to himself that he has pararibulitis. Not because he’s ashamed, or because he doesn’t deserve it – it’s pretty much the only thing he’s ever truly deserved. But to think about having pararibulitis is to admit to himself that he’s sick, as sick as Amanda is. And he doesn’t deserve to be on the same level as Amanda; the same level of need, and disability, and most importantly, level of care.

Todd looks back down at the floor. “It’s clean now,” he says, in the most pathetically defunct way possible. “I’ll – Do you want me to take this out the back, or …?”

Todd moves to grab the bucket, but Dirk stops him. He tugs the mop out of Todd’s hands and leans it against the stand. His eyebrows are knitted into another expression Todd can’t read. Todd just hopes it isn’t pity.

“You have pararibulitis too? But … but you work at a hotel. You work full time. Isn’t that …? Dangerous?”

 _Probably_.

“It’s fine,” Todd says casually, not meeting his eyes, “I don’t have it as bad as Amanda.”

“… Is that true?”

Todd tries not to curse Dirk internally. “It’s different. I’m – I don’t get it so much for just sensory stuff. I’m more likely to get it when I’m … upset, or something. When I’m fine or …”

_Or flattened into an emotional state so colorless I don’t even feel happy …_

“… If I’m just normal, I don’t get it as much.” Todd isn’t entirely sure that’s true, but he tells himself it is, so it’s all the information he has to give to Dirk. “Most of my … moments haven’t happened at work, they happen after. I think being tired, like – it fucks with me. I have to keep that job, anyway; Amanda really can’t work and I need to keep the money coming in for her treatments …”

“What about your treatments?” Dirk counters.

“I … I space out the medication. Buy a cheaper brand. If I need to, I just go without – it’s not as bad as it sounds, I can handle it,” Todd insists at the alarm on Dirk’s face. “I’ve been handling it for years, I only got it, like – the August after Amanda got diagnosed.”

“And you told your parents? And Amanda?”

Todd laughs humorlessly, “Of course not. I never told them, they just found out eventually. The first Christmas I got invited back home, I – I was really stiff from the drive back to Oregon, and … It doesn’t matter. They all felt bad for me. And they probably knew it was, you know …”

“What?”

“Karma.”

It’s only then that Dirk looks really, truly horrified. “ _Karma_? You think – what, that it’s some kind of … punishment, or that you deserve to be –”

“I do, because it is,” Todd says firmly.

Dirk makes a small noise of distress. “That’s not …” he starts to say, but one look at Todd’s stony face makes him fall silent. Still, Dirk frowns, tilting his head like something just isn’t adding up, “You said they had invited you for Christmas? Doesn’t that mean they were talking to you by then?”

Todd looks away.

“They were. You kept it hidden for years and just … suffered by yourself because you thought you were – paying penance or something.” Dirk’s expression starts to clear. “They didn’t forgive you just because they felt sorry for you. You’d been sending money for Amanda’s medicine that whole time, hadn’t you? You _were_ earning their trust back. You just couldn’t forgive yourself. You still can’t.”

Underneath Dirk’s gaze, Todd feels horribly naked, as if Dirk can see him in a way that Todd himself struggles to. It’s not a comfortable feeling, and it’s made even more unsettling by how gentle Dirk’s eyes are. There’s nothing invasive or prying in them, not even piercing – they just _see_ , with a clarity that Dirk doesn’t seem to be able to turn off.

“It was the same for Amanda, wasn’t it? You’d spent every moment since you told the truth trying to turn things around. You put her before yourself every single time. You still do, that’s why you spend so much money on her here –”

“I’m not a good person, Dirk!” Todd snaps, but even he can hear that he sounds like someone clutching at fast-disappearing straws.

He remembers Amanda in his apartment on Valentine’s Day, trying to literally beat some sense into him with a rubber glove.

_“Stop punishing yourself – it’s not like you’re even that person anymore!”_

_“You don’t need to hurt yourself.”_

_“I don’t want you to hate yourself.”_

Todd can remember her saying those things and more during the last three weeks, but he can’t seem to get them into his head. It’s like they bob up against the wall of his skull, unable to actually pass through and sink in.

After months of trying to work out what kind of person he is, if not a bad one, Todd has only come up with more questions than he started with. Trying to pick out what’s _naturally_ him, and what’s just another layer of pretend that he’s thrown over the top of whatever lies beneath – it’s fucking impossible. Todd only knows what kind of person he _wants_ to be, and that it’s a goal he’ll never be able to reach.

“I know you want me to believe I’m a good person,” Todd says, with forced steadiness. “Amanda wants me to believe that too. And I – Okay, maybe I’m not … a completely bad person anymore. Like I said. I’ve been trying. But that doesn’t mean I’m automatically a good person, either. And,” he continues when Dirk opens his mouth to interrupt, “I know you’re gonna say that me not being able to forgive myself is some kind of sign that I’m a good person, secretly. But what if it’s not? And if it is, doesn’t that mean that the moment I really forgive myself, I’m a bad person? Dirk, I don’t even … I don’t really know what you thought of me. But I know that it’s probably not – You treat me as if I’m nicer or sweeter or whatever than I actually am. I just tricked you into thinking I was. I tricked Amanda too. And my parents.”

Todd stands there for a long moment under Dirk’s all-seeing eyes, trying not to clench his fists, trying not to run for the door. When he finally swallows the last of his pride and meets Dirk’s gaze, he’s surprised yet again – because Dirk’s got his arms crossed, almost prissily, and he looks, of all things, unimpressed.

“Alright.” Dirk arches an eyebrow, and says in a voice laden with sarcasm. “First of all, _very_ original of you to assume I’m that stupid, no one’s _ever_ underestimated me like that before. Second of all,” he softens, “the people who love you most aren’t wrong about you.”

“They think I’m a better person than I am because I told the truth about a shitty thing I did.”

“Or maybe it has more to do with the fact that you’ve been nothing but the best man you can manage to be ever since. Have you considered, perhaps, that you can just _choose to be the person they think you are_?”

Todd stares at him. Dirk’s words batter themselves fruitlessly against Todd’s brain, unable to gain entry.

“You sound like Amanda,” Todd jokes feebly.

“Then Amanda must know what she’s talking about.”

“I know. She’s been trying to help me, but I just can’t – I don’t understand. I can’t get any of it to … go in and _stay_ there.”

Todd knows he’s probably being vague, but Dirk seems to get it. “It probably won’t go in overnight. You just have to sort of … keep jamming it in. You have to do the best you can do, and also do the best you can do to tell yourself that’s enough.” He sounds like he’s talking from experience. “It takes practice.”

“But what if I keep trying, and it doesn’t work – like, I can’t stop thinking, what if the best I can do _isn’t_ enough –”

Dirk raises a hand. “Okay, stop.” He sighs, purses his lips, then says, in the most matter-of-fact, no-nonsense voice Todd’s ever heard him use; “Whatever you were in the past, it _is_ the past. Your past. Amanda’s past. Your family’s past. It can’t be undone. It can’t be fixed. But it is _done_ , and it sounds to me like you’ve made amends for it. You’re not that person anymore – do you even understand that person? And anyway, it’s not going to help you, or anyone else, thinking about how you used to be that person. What seems far more important to me is who you’re going to choose to be now.

“And who you choose to be is entirely up to you, but it sounds like the people around you – the people who love you – have some good ideas on that front. If you need inspiration, that is.” Dirk smiles, moving ever so slightly closer. “You can be a good brother. Someone your sister can depend on. A good son. A good person. Someone who always takes responsibility for the things he does. Someone who knows loads about music, who has a very dry but honestly just  _perfect_ sense of humor. Someone who comes into my workplace and – and _talks_ to me, and makes me feel … happy. That’s who you want to be, right?”

Todd swallows. “More than anything.”

“So,” says Dirk, “be that person.”

“You make it sound easy.”

Dirk laughs, “It’s not. That’s where the hard work of the ‘being good’ thing comes in? Like I said, it takes practice. It’s like … learning a musical instrument, in a way.”

He smiles at Todd, in that slightly arch, slightly playful way he has, and seeing that smile after being deprived of it for weeks makes Todd’s chest feel warm again.

Dirk quickly sobers himself and finishes, “Anyway. You clearly have people in your life who adore you. I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”

Instead of flapping against the obstinate wall of Todd’s brain, Dirk’s words seem to hang in the air. They float like the most tantalizingly soft clouds. Todd feels the way he did on Valentine’s Day, when Amanda told him, “ _Dirk’s like bath bombs, for you,_ ” and he had paced around the thought slowly, looking it over from all angles.

He considers what Dirk has just suggested, and he feels slightly wonderstruck by it. It stirs something in him, clicks with something in the back of his mind in a way that feels _right_. It’s tenuous, and careful, and fragile – but the idea is slipping in, like a breath of fresh air, like cool, still water on a hot day.

Could he just choose to be good? It seems too simple. Too easy – except Todd knows it isn’t easy. He’s been doing it already, and finding that it’s not a choice of one Wednesday night or one Thursday morning but every night and every day afterwards. It’s been constant effort.

It’s also been worth it. It’s gotten easier. The routines and habits he’s kept pushing himself into over and over have started to wear familiar grooves into his life – not erosion, just patterns that make sense, that form pictures. He’s fallen into routines of looking after himself, putting just enough of himself first so that he can keep putting the people he loves mostly first – not out of guilt, but out of love. Because that’s the kind of person he is, apparently. Todd genuinely, truly likes to put other people first. He likes to look after people. Sometimes he’s even caught himself thinking he might be good at it.

And if he falls down again, like he did when he thought Dirk had lied?

_Then I get better. I get up, and I keep getting better._

Because it’s not just effort, is it? It’s upkeep. This whole time, Todd’s been waiting for some mythical finishing line, for the moment when he feels _ready_ for the world, all finished and all better. But there’s no such thing. There’s no way for him to be permanently better, the same way there’s no way for his apartment to be permanently clean – or his body, for that matter. He’ll always have days where he gets gross and sweaty, or days when his hair just won’t sit right, but at the end of days like that he can have a bath. Wash it off.

And yeah, it might take a bit of scrubbing sometimes, and maybe he’ll never be rid of some things that bother him, like the dry patches that flare up on his hands in winter, or the nasty voice that lurks in the back of his mind – but maybe the capacity to get worse at any moment is just the flipside to the capacity to get better, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s good, even, that there’s no end to it, no instant cure. Maybe Todd wouldn’t want a cure if there was one going.

Because maybe apart from looking after other people, Todd likes looking after himself. And maybe a pristine, finished version of himself, one that never grew or changed or was too scared to ever get dirty – maybe he wouldn’t want that. Maybe it’s a relief that that’ll never be him.

Todd looks at Dirk, all glitter-strewn, sleep-deprived, beautiful. Soft, sweet, slightly annoying at times. Very far from perfect. Todd can’t think of anything better.

“And you know,” Dirk says quietly, “you don’t have to be the best person in the world to deserve having some nice things in your life. In my experience it’s sort of hard to be the best version of yourself if you’re constantly telling yourself you’re not allowed to be happy.”

 _Well, shit. He has a point_ , Todd thinks, and starts to laugh.

As Todd laughs he sees Dirk’s smile return, the small, pleased one that always made an appearance whenever Todd gave him a compliment on his work. Todd is further uplifted by it, by having it back after missing it more bitterly than he had allowed himself to realize.

He feels the tension melting away from his body, and he lets himself take Dirk in; the not-quite-brown, not-quite-red shade of his hair, the clear blue of his eyes, the familiar shapes of his lips and jaw and the lines of his neck and shoulders.

“Thank you,” Todd tells him.

“For what?” he asks, even though he’s already smiling wider.

Todd means to say “ _for helping me_ ,” but what comes out instead is the far sappier, but far more true, “For being you.”

And sappy it might be, but Todd definitely isn’t going to recant it if it makes Dirk blush like that. He feels a rush of something in his stomach, a little wave of butterflies.

“Dirk.” He finds himself smiling. “I missed you.”

Dirk blinks, flutters slightly at the fingertips. “You did?” he says with another little sigh, sounding torn between surprised delight and something else.

“Yes!” Todd replies before he can hold himself back, because Dirk’s insane for thinking otherwise. “Of course I did, you’re … I missed you so much, Dirk – Am I saying your name too much?”

“God, no,” Dirk blurts, then turns even pinker, “Actually, I was – I’ve been meaning to –”

Todd remembers something; he goes down on one knee to search for Dirk’s glasses. When he finds them, tucked underneath the demo-stand, and gets to his feet, Dirk is a truly impressive shade of pink that matches one of the rose-themed bubble bars.

Todd hands Dirk his folded glasses with a smile. “Your glasses are – they’re nice.”

Dirk nearly drops them halfway through putting them on. “Er – thank you.”

“Why don’t you usually wear them?” Todd lets his gaze wander over Dirk’s eyes, now framed by the rounded tortoise-shell. “You should.”

Dirk makes an almost indescribable spluttering noise, which puts a grin on Todd’s face and barely manages to resolves itself into, “I – well, er – Um, thank you. I don’t really need – I can see alright without them. And well, they – they get dirty at work. The glitter, it gets everywhere.”

Todd pulls his gaze away from Dirk’s eyelashes to linger on a faint smudge of gold glitter near Dirk’s mouth. “Yeah. I noticed that.”

“Um, yes … So,” Dirk stammers, “I have to keep cleaning them, so usually I wear contacts, but lately my contacts have been all rub-y and itchy – probably because of all the crying I’ve been …” He stops as abruptly as Todd’s stomach drops. “Never mind.”

Todd steps closer, feeling the ache come back into his chest, “I’m sorry I stayed away so long. I thought … really bad things about you. Just because I was scared.”

“No, no, it’s fine! I’m fine,” Dirk says, even though he doesn’t look fine at all. “Just … Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No – no, of course you –”

“Because I’ve been told that I can come on a bit strong, and I didn’t mean to be too much –”

“Dirk, you weren’t too much, god – not at all, I want …” Todd takes a breath, just to slow himself down enough to communicate properly. He has to be clear about this. “Dirk, there’s nothing we’ve done or that you’ve said to me that was too much. You’re not too much, not to me.”

Dirk’s eyes widen, and for a second he looks like he’s going to cry again. But then Todd sees Dirk draw back into himself, nodding and blinking away the tears.

“But you still don’t … You didn’t come back.” Dirk gives a short, bitter laugh, “I mean, you didn’t have to. I’d just started to think …”

“I promised you I’d come back, didn’t I?” says Todd, a little desperately. “And I did, I swear I did – but things got … Dirk, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay!” says Dirk, again with false brightness. “It’s not like we were … It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, _I_ wasn’t fine – I told you, I missed you so much,” Todd says with a fierceness that surprises even him, but makes him brave enough to add, “and I think you missed me too.”

Dirk looks back at him, the forced brightness dying away. In its place is the strange, almost sad look from before. “Yes.”

 _I was_ right _. I was right, he missed me._

Todd moves closer again, trying to stay calm, because he has to get this all out on the table. “It’s a really long story, but basically I – I did come back. Like, the week after I last saw you. I had a really bad day at work, and I came straight here afterwards –”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to make yourself come here,” Dirk cuts in anxiously, “please don’t, especially if you’ve had a bad day, you can just go home and –”

“I _wanted_ to see you,” Todd says, meeting his eyes. “You always make me feel better.”

“Oh.” Dirk flushes slightly, and his mouth curves into a small smile. “That’s … good.”

Todd can feel his own face warming up, so he re-focuses himself sharply, “Um, yeah – so I – I came here, but like I said, you weren’t here.”

“Bart said she –”

“Yeah, I …” Todd laughs, “I met Bart. And I think I misunderstood some stuff, or my brain just … I don’t know. I got really mixed up, and I went home, and I … kinda had a breakdown? A really bad … moment – I mean …” He forces himself to call it what it actually was, “an attack. A pararibulitis attack.”

Dirk makes sad, upset sound and reaches out to him, but Todd raises a hand, trying both to reassure him and hold him back long enough to get the whole story out, because he just knows he’s not going to be able to focus with Dirk’s hands on him.

“No, it’s okay. Amanda looked after me. Well,” he amends, “she looked after me after the second one.”

Dirk makes another, much more insistent upset noise, and Todd laughs.

“Dirk, I’m okay, I promise. I’m just sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I had to clear my head. And it took a while.”

Dirk smiles weakly, and says again, though with more sincerity this time, “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

Todd decides it’s best, after all this time, to just ask after his anxieties outright. “And you don’t … hate me?”

Dirk squints at him, then twitches slightly, like he’s trying to shake water out of his ears. He opens his mouth, but only a faint “ _Huh_ ,” comes out. He tries again, “ _Hate_ you?”

“Or not hate, just … I thought …” Todd tries for a sheepish smile, “This is so stupid, but I thought you and … Um.” He has no idea what the best way to put this is, so he errs on the side of hoping he’ll be corrected. “I thought you and your girlfriend …? Were making fun of me?”

Dirk says nothing. Dirk simply continues to stare at him, his mouth open and shutting again, his eyes squinting, his brows twitching like they have no idea where they’re meant to be.

“… Dirk?”

Dirk shuts his eyes, his face going still. “I’m sorry,” he says calmly, “Nothing in that sentence made any sense to me, could you say it again?”

The anxiety of not yet being corrected is nearly sickening, but Todd repeats, “I thought you and your girlfriend were making fun of me.”

“Okay, no, there it is again. I –” Dirk pulls in a breath of air, then holds it in his mouth, his lips pursed oddly, as if he’s trying to turn the air into coherent thought using only his tongue. “Making fun of you? When – Do you mean you thought the flirting was …” Dirk grimaces. “Oh god, Panto said it was too much, but what does Panto know – he only has a husband of three years and counting but oh no, Dirk gently knows best …”

Todd doesn’t have time to unravel what about the last bit of that doesn’t make sense, he’s too busy feeling a flare of triumph and confirmation. “You _were_ flirting with me.”

“Of course I was – Wait.” Dirk stops in the middle of his verbal pacing. “Girlfriend. My – my wh- _Girlfriend_?!”

Hope shoots up in Todd’s chest at the sight of the genuine bafflement on Dirk’s face. “Mona?”

“ _Mona_?!” Dirk yelps, the bafflement turning to complete and total revulsion.

Todd can’t help it; he breaks into a relieved grin. “Not your girlfriend?”

Dirk pulls another face, this one miming retching, “My _sister_.”

“Your … Okay, but …” Now Todd is confused too. “No, wait, I was told – I thought Bart was your sister.”

“A person can have more than one sibling,” Dirk says, in a tone that would be derisive if he didn’t still look like he’d just sucked all the juice from a slice of lemon.

“But Hugo said ...”

“ _Hugo_?!” Dirk exclaims. “HUGO? Are you telling me you listened to something _Hugo_ told you? The man doesn’t know lavender oil from a charcoal scrub – he’s a total screaming nincompoop! Mona and Bart are _both_ my sisters, it’s just that Mona isn’t related to me by blood! And _Hugo_ is a twat – Has he been saying that we’re …? Oh no, it’s _too_ disgusting, he’s heteronormativity in a gym shirt ...”

“Alright, so – so Mona isn’t your girlfriend,” Todd says, trying to get all information in the right order, “and Hugo wasn’t lying but he’s just … stupid?”

“ _Very_ stupid.”

“He, um. He said he’d seen you and Mona … kissing.”

Dirk groans, “Oh bloody _hell_ , on the _cheek_! And it’s not exactly tender, half the time she convinces me to give her a piggy-back ride and then blows a huge raspberry on my cheek just because she knows I think it’s revolting.”

“Oh, yeah, can relate to that one,” Todd grins. He feels almost light-headed with relief. “God, to be honest, I’ve been really confused, at first I thought you weren’t interested …”

“Not _interested_?!”

“And then I thought you were, and then I thought you were making fun of me and it was a prank –”

“A _PRANK_?!”

“And then I thought you had a girlfriend, but Amanda said maybe you were poly and it was, you know, an open thing and that maybe you were still interested me, like, on the side? I don’t know –”

“On the – _on the side_?! _You_?! ON THE SIDE?” Dirk’s voice squeaks higher and higher with outrage. “No. _No_. I’m not in a polyamorous relationship with my sister, but even if I _somehow_ was – you would _not_ be ‘on the side.’”

“Oh. I … O-okay,” Todd says, trying very hard not to feel weirdly pleased and totally failing.

“Also, I’m not an expert, but I don’t think that’s how polyamorous relationships have to work –” Dirk stops with a sudden look of comprehension. “This is your terrible self-esteem talking, isn’t it?”

“Almost definitely,” Todd replies distractedly. “Okay. So.”

 _I’m gonna be brave_ , he thinks. _I’m gonna be a badass. I’m gonna ask direct questions. I’m not going to drown._

“You’re, um. You’re single?” he manages to get out.

_Kinda shaky, but that’s okay, we’re doing good._

Dirk swallows. He’s gone completely still, frozen to the spot like he’s scared that Todd will disappear if he so much as breathes the wrong way. After a second Dirk seems to realize that he hasn’t actually replied, and jolts into replying very, very fast.

“Yes. Single. _Very_ single. Extremely very much so, single.” The old nervous, fluttery energy to his body is back, in the tilt of his head and his bitten lip. “And you’re … single?”

Todd laughs, surprised by the question even though the implications of it make him feel nervous and fluttery too, “Of course I – yeah. I am. And you’re …”

 _Be brave_ , he tells himself.

“You’re interested? In me? Like … romantically?”

It’s probably the geekiest way to put it, but Todd decides that doesn’t matter, especially when Dirk’s eyes are filling with that familiar look of hope and ‘ _finally, finally_ ,’ and he’s nodding and saying in a rush, “Yes! Yes. I’m – I’m very interested in you, romantically and … and all kinds of – And – and you? Are you …?”

“Yes,” Todd says instantly.

At first they both just stand there, marveling at the feeling of having each other in reach for the what seems like the first time. Then, in the same moment, they move towards each other like ocean tides meeting in a rip. Todd gets there first and pulls Dirk in by the hips, just as he’s always wanted to; Dirk wraps his arms around Todd’s waist.

They speak simultaneously, each with the most disastrously mangled version of the question they’ve been rehearsing for months;

“Do you want to go on a Netflix with me?”

“Would coffee out and go sometime?”

“Ah – I was first,” Todd says, even though he doesn’t actually care, not when he has Dirk this close.

“Don’t be silly, you know I was first,” Dirk replies, with such secure condescension that suddenly, Todd does care, _actually_.

“Dirk,” he says tersely, “I was first.”

“No, you weren’t, darling.”

Todd tries valiantly to ignore the way his chest floods with butterflies at the endearment. “Yes, I was.”

“No, you weren’t,” Dirk says blithely.

“I – yes, yes, I was!”

Dirk pulls back enough to give Todd a knowing look, as well as enough to make Todd feel an embarrassingly strong pang of neediness and pull him back in.

“I’ve been trying to ask you out since _well_ before New Year’s,” says Dirk. “We both know I was first.”

“But you didn’t actually do it, did you?” Todd points out, choosing not to mention the time he’d thought that Dirk had.

“I’ve been writing my number on the back of every receipt since the second time you came here,” Dirk says flatly.

That curbs Todd’s ire a little. “Oh. I … I always threw them out before I left the mall because I didn’t want Amanda finding out how much money I spent on her.”

Dirk groans, dropping his head onto Todd’s shoulder and triggering another surge of butterflies.

“But that’s still … That’s not the same as actually asking me out,” Todd says stubbornly. “You didn’t actually ask me out – you just danced around it for half a year.”

“ _So did you_!” Dirk protests. “You were too busy blindly ignoring every single time I came onto you to even progress to the actually-formulating-a-date-plan stage.”

“Oh yeah?” Todd retorts. “Then how come I was going to ask you out for Valentine’s?!”

He delivers it with attitude of a teenager snapping, “ _so there_ ,” but Dirk melts against him and grins shyly.

“You were?”

God, the waves of butterflies are too much. They’re going to work all kind of patterns into Todd’s being and then where will he be? Even more in love with the most ridiculous person he’s ever met?

“Yeah,” he says, slipping his fingers between Dirk’s. “I meant to ask you out the last time I saw you. But then …”

“Mona.”

“Yeah. And then …. Things basically fell to shit.”

“Bloody Hugo. I should have known he’d be the source of all my agonies.”

Todd grins, “He said you prank him.”

“Oh, honestly, he’s a big baby,” Dirk grumbles. “We only pranked him because he wouldn’t stop using the ‘F’ slur at work. And using ‘gay’ as derogatory descriptor.”

“Yeah, I got that vibe from him.”

“And we only pranked him once! Maybe two times. Two and a half, if you count the time with the Swedish squeeze toy. But in our defense, maybe he shouldn’t have believed that it was haunted.”

Todd laughs, a delighted, full-chested laugh that warms him from the inside out. Dirk laughs too, pressing their foreheads together.

“This whole … ‘being interested in each other’ lark,” he says, “we certainly made a meal of it, didn’t we?”

“If I hadn’t been such an insecure idiot …” Todd begins to say, but Dirk shakes his head.

“Oh, it wasn’t just you. I had my share of … misunderstandings, believe me.”

Dirk goes on to explain that over the intervening three weeks, Hugo had never actually mentioned the encounter with Todd – although that might have been because Panto had recently started separating Dirk and Hugo’s shifts to avoid a repeat of the ‘water bomb incident.’ Bart had mentioned seeing Todd when she got home that night, but apparently hadn’t had much to say about it, except that Todd had been holding ‘a big bunch of flowers’ and had looked ‘all freaked out.’ And those were all the details Dirk could get, as apparently Bart could be notoriously unhelpful when she chose to be.

“I think I spent the next week jumping every time I caught a glimpse of someone who even vaguely resembled you,” Dirk admits.

They’ve drifted over towards the counter in their almost-hug by now. They’re reluctant to step away from each other, but the explanations have necessitated enough distance to talk normally, so here they both are, leaning slightly against the counter, their heads bent together.

Todd’s pretty sure he’s in Heaven. He has one of Dirk’s hands in both of his and is tracing the shape of his fingers, refreshing his memory of every line and dip.

“When you didn’t show up on Wednesday, I thought, ‘well, I expect he’s just busy. Probably has lots of other things to be doing than running around after me.’”

 _Nothing else, actually_ , Todd thinks to himself as he smiles down at Dirk’s palm.

Maybe Dirk catches the smile, or maybe it’s the way Todd skims his finger and thumb down the length of Dirk’s ring finger. Either way Dirk shivers slightly as he says, “Th-then, Friday. No sign of you. And I told myself, ‘now, don’t panic. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe Amanda needs some extra help. Maybe work was particularly insane.’ But you weren’t here the next Wednesday, either.”

Todd pauses on the tip of Dirk’s pinky, feeling a faint sting in his chest at the thought of Dirk waiting and waiting for him. “And you thought I’d …”

“Well, to be honest, I tried not to think about it at all, at first,” Dirk confesses. “Even though I’m not exactly skilled at just _not thinking_ about things. But I tried not to overreact. I thought maybe there’d been some misunderstanding – I was so sure you’d show up eventually and I’d had this _feeling_ that – well. That the last time we saw each other, you were trying to ask me out. So I waited. But the longer I waited, the more I started to think … Maybe I’d done something to put you off, or –”

“No,” Todd says, intertwining his fingers with Dirk’s and squeezing.

“… Or maybe that you’d … That you’d gotten bored with me. Found someone better.” Dirk lets out a choked laugh, “It would be easy to find someone better.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Todd says staunchly. “And I wouldn’t want to.”

Dirk’s eyebrows twist together in surprise and tenderness. He looks a bit teary again, but in a happier way.

“Dirk, I really, really mean it, you know. About being … interested in you. Actually I’m …” Todd takes a deep breath, “Look, I have to be honest, my feelings for you are – maybe not normal for – We just asked each other out, but the way I feel already might be a lot to start off with or get involved with, and I think I still have a lot of baggage.”

Dirk’s slightly wet smile widens, “Well. I might too. But I’m pretty good at carrying crates of bath supplies. And you _are_ a bellboy, aren’t you?”

Todd laughs. He cups Dirk’s cheek with one hand. Dirk lets out a quiet breath, melting into his hand in a way that puts the ache back in Todd’s chest – though the pleasant kind of ache, like the warmth of a hearthside fire.

“Seriously, Dirk,” he tells him. “I’m more than ‘interested.’ I more than like you.”

“I more than like you.”

“No, I mean, I want you to be my …” Todd thinks of how to put it, but as always, he can’t find the words. He’s pretty sure there aren’t any right ones, any perfect ones. Out of the blue, he thinks of the Valentine’s card he made all those years ago.

_‘I want you to be my person.’_

He can’t say that, not yet. He settles on, “My feelings for you are pretty intense. When I thought I couldn’t see you again, or that I’d been a joke to you … I was a fucking mess.”

Dirk’s hand tightens on his. “I know.”

“No …” Todd starts to say, but Dirk draws back enough for Todd to see his face.

For the first time, Todd looks at Dirk as clearly as he can, without anxiety or self-hatred or simple defeat clouding his eyes. And what he sees is Dirk looking back at him like a mirror, and he finally pins down the almost sad expression he saw before. It’s longing. Raw, quiet longing, just like Todd has felt for months. The same want, the same loneliness, the same love.

“I know,” Dirk says again, and Todd understands him this time.

Todd is stunned silent, even as Dirk breaks into a smile that’s no less joyous for being slightly shaky.

“I didn’t think …” Dirk says, “I mean, obviously I’d hoped, but I didn’t think you might feel the way –”

“I love you,” Todd breathes, and revels in the way that tiny truth makes Dirk sigh, like some internal part of him is finally settling into place.

Then Dirk’s smile shifts, turning back to playful, almost coy, and Todd feels a thrill as soon as he sees it.

“Do you remember what I said before?” he asks, leaning closer.

“I dunno,” Todd replies, though he’s smiling back. “You say a lot of shit.”

“About how good people deserve nice things.”

Todd’s mostly distracted now, mostly with staring at Dirk’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Darling,” Dirk tuts at him – then proceeds to distract Todd further by grasping the front of Todd’s belt and tugging him in sharply.

Todd’s hand, the one that was cupping Dirk’s face, slides almost reflexively into a knot of hair at the back of Dirk’s head. They’re standing as close as they were the day Dirk pinned Todd against the sink, and Dirk has both hands on Todd’s hips and is pressing up against him, and Todd’s heart feels like it’s beating hard enough to reverberate into Dirk’s chest.

“What was the question?” Todd says, his voice coming out rough and breathless.

“Am I a good person?” Dirk asks, pressing his forehead against Todd’s once again.

The ache is unbelievable. It’s everywhere, in Todd’s chest and throat, and low and simmering in his stomach. He presses in, tilts his head just enough for his nose to brush against Dirk’s nose, just enough to still see the blurring outline of Dirk’s lips.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You are.”

“And I think you’re nice things,” Dirk whispers against Todd’s mouth.

Todd closes the last few millimeters of distance between their lips.

Six months. Nearly seven, really. That’s how long Todd has spent imagining how it would feel to kiss Dirk. Even ruling out the imaginings of casual kisses, short kisses, ‘I-have-to-leave-for-work-I’ll-see-you-after’ kisses, and focusing solely on the extended make-out fantasies, that’s a lot of different imaginary kisses, staged in a lot of different places.

Todd has imagined kissing Dirk in the light of the afternoon sun by the window. He’s imagined kissing Dirk on his couch, both of them slightly sleepy after work and kissing slowly, languidly. He’s thought about kissing Dirk in his kitchen, maybe just after a Sunday breakfast when he can still taste pancakes and maple syrup on Dirk’s tongue. He’s thought about Dirk tangled up in his bed with mussed clothes and hair; pressed against the wall – any wall, honestly; on deserted streets at night when no one else is about. Todd has imagined wandering hands and sighs and the shape of Dirk’s body melding itself to his.

This is different. This is reality – unromantically, so, in some ways. They’re in a shopping mall after hours, which is always a little weird. The lights overhead flicker occasionally, and there are probably security guards prowling around not too far outside the doors.

But Dirk and Todd are _inside_ the doors. They’re in the bath store, in their own little world, finally, blissfully alone together. There are so many details to it that Todd’s imagination could never do justice to, or think to consider. When Todd rakes his hand through Dirk’s hair it is a _bit_ greasy, but he couldn’t fucking care less. Dirk’s glasses bump against Todd’s face and at one point they have stop, just to give Dirk a moment to pull them off and drop them on the counter behind him.

They’re both laughing though, diving into another kiss, and another, and another, and Todd really doesn’t want to stop, but Dirk doesn’t seem to want to either – and that’s the main thing Todd never imagined. Dirk kisses him not just passionately, not just with the hunger that Todd has occasionally caught in his eyes, but _messily_. His hands pull at Todd’s shirt and jacket as if he can’t get close enough, and he makes soft, desperate noises that deepen into moans when Todd kisses him harder. Todd hardly allowed himself to think that Dirk was interested in him. He let himself hope that Dirk might, one day, grow to love him back. But Dirk kisses him with nothing _but_ love.

It almost makes Todd feel lucky, until he thinks about the amount of work he’s put in to get this far. Not to mention the amount of times he’s gotten back up after falling.

It’s that thought that reminds him of something important, and he pulls out of the kiss before Dirk can make another noise sure to completely drive rational thought from his brain.

“Wait, I forgot –” His voice jumps, and he has to clear it before continuing. “I have to give you this.”

Todd pulls a crumpled card, torn at the top, out of his pocket and offers it to Dirk. Dirk doesn’t really acknowledge its existence at first; he’s blinking dazedly, like someone waking up from a very good dream.

“Dirk,” Todd grins, prodding him.

“Oh. Yes. Oh, a ripped piece of paper! My favorite!” Dirk says without malice, taking the card.

Todd ignores the slightly bewildered joke in favor of enjoying the sight of a recently-kissed-by-Todd-Brotzman-Dirk, all pink and intoxicated.

_He looks fantastic._

Dirk, meanwhile, has flipped open the card and is now staring down at it.

“‘ _I’m sorry, looks like we had another missed connection. X_.’ Is that … you signing, or …?”

Todd feels his cheeks heat up. “It’s a kiss. Like. Obviously.”

“Oooh. Oh, a kiss!” Dirk looks deeply pleased and a bit surprised. “You left a kiss for me?”

“Dirk, we … we’ve been kissing for like, ten minutes.”

“Yes, but now I have it in writing,” Dirk says, brandishing the card smugly. “Oh, and these numbers, they …” He stops. He stares at the card, as if it’s suddenly transformed into the Holy Grail. “This is …”

“My number.” Todd adds apologetically, “Kind of really late. I wanted to get you flowers too, but nowhere was open, so I just … um.” He points to a corner of the card, where he had frantically doodled something right after pulling into the parking lot.

“Flowers,” Dirk sighs. “Flowers for me – you’re …”

“They’re buttercups,” Todd explains, his cheeks only getting hotter. “I always wanted to get you buttercups. The first bath bomb you ever gave me, it was called –”

“Cheer Up, Buttercup.” Dirk looks up at Todd with a shining smile. “You remembered.” Then he glances down and scans the card again. He starts to laugh.

“Dirk? Is this the nervous laugh thing again, because it kinda stresses me out –”

“You …” Dirk gasps with laughter, “you didn’t sign it, you bloody – I still don’t –” He covers his mouth, stopping himself.

Todd stares at him. First, he frowns. Then he thinks, very carefully. Then he narrows his eyes.

“… Dirk. Do you not know my name?”

Dirk’s silence and wide lamb eyes tell a shameful tale.

“ _We just made out and you don’t know my name_?!”

Dirk can’t hold back his laughter, he starts giggling again, “You never told me! And then it – it just got too late to ask, and – It’s not like you’re a stranger to me!”

“Unbelievable.”

“You’re not really mad are – oh!”

Dirk’s sentence ends preemptively in a squeak when Todd digs into the pocket of Dirk’s jeans. They’re empty; Todd reaches around to Dirk’s back-pocket, prompting another squeak, followed by a scandalized, “ _Sir_!” that barely even tries to hide how pleased Dirk is.

Todd finds Dirk’s phone in his other back-pocket. “Unlock it.”

Dirk, with only slight hesitation, provides his thumb-print.

“I’m putting my number in right now,” Todd says, heading straight to Dirk’s contacts. “I am _not_ losing track of you ever again. Also, here.” He pulls his own phone out, unlocks it, and pushes it into Dirk’s chest.

As Todd keys in his number, he glances up to see Dirk staring at him with still-pink cheeks. Dirk ducks his head and hurries to add himself to Todd’s phone, and Todd has to hold back a smile.

_Fucking cute._

Todd finishes and locks Dirk’s phone automatically. Dirk’s lockscreen flashes up at him, and Todd squints at it. He vaguely recognizes the faces from something Amanda showed him last week.

“Why is your lockscreen a K-pop band?” he asks, though he already suspects he’ll regret it.

Dirk grins his most infuriatingly charming grin, “I’m very glad you asked me that, Mr …?”

Todd rolls his eyes and hands back Dirk’s phone. Dirk unlocks it with greedy excitement. The screen lights up the soft look that settles on his mouth as he sees his newest contact.

“Todd.” He looks up, and the grin is back.

And now, Todd can do what he’s always wanted to do when faced with that grin. He pulls Dirk in and kisses him, hard.

 

* * *

 

A length of time later, long enough that he doesn’t feel comfortable speculating on it, Todd pulls himself back mid-kiss.

“Oh shit,” he pants.

Dirk, who by now is much pinker and much more intoxicated than before, as well as sitting slumped on the floor against the front of the counter, doesn’t really seem to register what Todd’s just said. He just makes a whining noise in the back of his throat and tries to tug Todd back down by the front of his shirt.

“More talk later, Todd. Kissing now,” he slurs. “Don’t mind if you have a boner. Kissing to continue now, please.”

“No, Dirk, my sister.”

“Whaa’?”

“Amanda. Amanda’s in the car with a baseball bat.”

“She …” Dirk blinks, his head lolling slightly. “What?”

Todd climbs off Dirk’s lap. His legs are stiff, though, and he might be a bit weak at the knees, so he nearly ends up falling onto his side. “We should go.”

“We? Wait, why does she have a baseball bat?”

“She said if you were screwing with me that she’d beat you up. Pretty sure she’s not serious,” Todd tries to insert a laugh there, but it doesn’t exactly sound confident, because he’s actually pretty sure Amanda was a hundred per cent serious. “But we should go. She said if I didn’t show in half an hour, she’d …” He pulls out his phone to check the time. It’s past ten thirty. He’s been in here for over an hour. “Crap.”

“Todd, I know I said that I was trained as a ninja by the CIA, but that was a lie. A joke. Joke-lie. I’m pretty sure a baby duck could take me out in a fight.”

Dirk is using the counter to pull himself up. He looks like he’s been dragged backwards through a bush; a bunch of his hair is standing on end and … okay, Todd had felt pretty pleased with himself when he’d put those marks around Dirk’s collar, but now he’s remembering the fact that his _sister_ is waiting in the car.

Todd slides Dirk’s glasses back onto his face and tries to fix Dirk’s hair. Dirk just leans into his touch with a goofy smile, which is incredibly unhelpful because it just makes Todd want to kiss him again.

“Okay, you got anything you need to grab? Keys, jacket?”

Dirk’s brow furrows in concentration, then clears. “Keys _and_ jacket!” he says triumphantly. “I’ll get them, Todd!”

He whirls around and dashes drunkenly into the backroom, leaving Todd red-faced at the counter, just like old times.

In the minutes since finding out Todd’s name, Dirk has been doing his utmost to make up for not being able to use it for six months. Todd blushing when the grocery cashier called him ‘sir’ was bad enough, it turns out listening to his name make itself at home in Dirk’s mouth is downright –

“Got them, Todd!” Dirk returns, staggering back through the door like a cavalier, rum-soaked pirate, if the pirate was wearing a pastel pink leather jacket and carrying a bright yellow Fjall-raven backpack over one shoulder.

_How is that everything I imagined and better?_

Todd smiles, stepping in to keep fixing Dirk’s hair, even though it’s already mostly fixed.

“Am I looking okay to meet Amanda, Todd?” Dirk says excitedly, as if Amanda is a glamorous and very inspiring celebrity.

Dirk is covered in glitter from head to toe. His glasses are streaky from bumping against Todd’s face, and Todd’s fairly certain the back of Dirk’s jeans are imprinted with solid glitter from sitting on the floor. He looks exactly like himself.

“You look perfect,” Todd tells him, “just … about my name.”

“Yes, Todd?”

“Um. Could you – say it a bit less … all of the time?”

Dirk deflates immediately.

“Not that I don’t like you saying it, I do!”

“But I’m saying it too much,” Dirk mumbles.

“No, it’s not even that – okay it _is_ that a bit, because Amanda will definitely think it’s weird if you –”

“She’ll think I’m weird?”

“No, no, she won’t – that’s not the problem, it’s …” Todd doesn’t know how to say it. “Dirk, I like it _too_ much.”

Dirk gives Todd a look that suggests _he’s_ the one who’s weird. “Todd. Names are important. You _can’t_ like them too much.”

“No, I mean. You know.”

“No?”

“I _like_ it, and that’s … a bit embarrassing?”

Dirk just looks at him blankly, “I don’t understand.”

Oh god, he’s actually going to make Todd spell it out.

“Dirk, we just got together, and I’m – We were …”

Dirk smiles innocently, “What we were doing, Todd? Kissing? Snogging? Engaging in a mutually heated demonstration of the deeply enjoyable capabilities of the human tongue, betwixt utterances of affection and a _very_ satisfying exploration of each other’s bodies?”

“When you say my name a lot, it turns me on!” Todd snaps, “And so does that, you …”

And then they’re kissing again. It’s bordering on rough, and Dirk is bordering on noisy, and Todd has to pull away again as quickly as possible because otherwise he’s definitely going to get a boner. Also, he works out five seconds in that Dirk was deliberately provoking him, so he kisses him for a minute more just to rile him up in return before abruptly withdrawing.

“Alright, let’s go.” He grabs Dirk’s hand and starts to pull him forwards.

“I’m coming home with you?” Dirk says, once he catches his breath.

Todd glances at him and sees the wondrous look of nervous delight on his face.

“Oh, I …” Todd had just assumed they would leave together. He hadn’t actually given any thought as to where they were headed. “No, my place is a mess, it’s – I’m not sure it’s ready for …”

“I’m sure I’ll love it if you’re in it somewhere,” Dirk says with all his old earnestness.

Todd follows the impulse to pull Dirk into a kiss as soft as the look on his face. Todd intends it to be quick and chaste, but then Dirk puts a hand on Todd’s chest, over his heart, and Todd sucks Dirk’s bottom lip slowly into his mouth, and then it’s soft and slow and not chaste at all – and shit, they’re really bad at this …

Todd draws back, “No, no – we have to go, I’m scared she’s gonna come crashing through the plastic barrier screaming. I’ll drop you home.”

He tries to pull Dirk into motion, but Dirk just stumbles into Todd’s chest like an unsteady colt.

“Dirk, come on – Do you need me to carry you?”

“Oh god, _could_ you?”

Todd can feel himself turning red again. He pushes Dirk towards the door firmly.

“You’re the one who incapacitated me!” Dirk protests as they go. “It’s your fault I can’t walk properly!”

“I forgot how annoying you are,” Todd mutters.

When they get out to the parking lot it’s freezing, and Dirk latches onto Todd’s arm and tries to burrow into his warmth. Todd lets him, partially because he’s been craving that kind of contact from Dirk for months, and partially because it makes it easier to try to angle Dirk in a way that hides the glitter marks on his ass as they approach the car.

It looks like Todd’s anxieties were for nothing, yet again. Amanda is still engrossed in her game. She would look like she hadn’t moved since he left, but for the family-sized box of popcorn she has propped up in her lap.

“You went to get snacks?” Todd says as he opens the car door on her side.

“Eh. You hadn’t come back, but you hadn’t texted either, so I figured stuff was happening I didn’t wanna know about.” She casts a look over Dirk, who’s waving at her very enthusiastically. Then she shoots a smirk at Todd.

 _Don’t – fucking – say – anything_ , he says to her silently. Out loud, he says, “This is Dirk.”

 _What, you think I’d embarrass you in front of your crush? Todd, the lack of faith_ , she replies with wide eyes. Out loud, she says, “Hey. Amanda,” and offers her hand to Dirk to shake.

Dirk grabs it. “Hi! Hello, Amanda!”

“Are you guys boyfriends yet?”

“Well …” Todd stammers, at the same time that Dirk says, “Yes!”

They exchange a look.

“Well,” Dirk recants, at the same time that Todd grins, “Yes.”

“We’re _very_ much boyfriends,” Dirk says slyly, with enough suggestion in the emphasis to make Todd punch him in the arm. “Ow!”

“Going home together, _are we_?” grins Amanda.

Todd regrets ever watching _Miranda_ with her. “Jumping to conclusions, are we? I’m dropping Dirk at his place. Then I’m dropping you at your place.”

“I’m sleepy, I’m crashing at yours.”

“No, you’re not, Amanda,” says Todd as he goes round to the driver’s side. “Dirk, put your stuff in the trunk. It should be unlocked.”

“Nah. I’m sleepy,” Amanda repeats. “Bags bed.”

As Dirk fiddles with the trunk, Todd climbs into the driver’s seat and elbows Amanda.

“Climb into the back, I want him next to me,” he hisses.

“I bet you do.”

“ _Amanda_.”

“Promise I get the bed.”

He whacks her, “No. Move.”

Amanda grumbles, but she gets up and starts clambering awkwardly over the gearstick and between the front seats into the back.

“Twink,” she mutters at Todd as she goes. “I called it.”

“Stop – he’s not a twink.”

“Todd! The boot won’t open!”

Todd is distracted and confused for a second by where Dirk found a boot and why he’s trying to open it, then he cottons on and unlocks the trunk of the car properly. Then he twists back around to Amanda.

“You don’t know anything. You haven’t seen his arms.”

“Oh _really_?”

“God, shut up! He’s not a twink, if anything he’s a twunk,” Todd whispers furiously, then pulls a face. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Twink is an energy, you ignorant slut,” Amanda says as she stretches out on the back seat.

“Shut up!”

Amanda just grins at him. “Nice hair, by the way.”

Todd’s hand goes to his hair. Shit. He’d been so busy fixing Dirk’s he hadn’t even checked his own.

“You know you have glitter all over you, right?”

“I will _kill_ you,” Todd is spitting, right as Dirk comes up to the open passenger side and stares at both of them.

“Um …”

Todd panics, “We weren’t making fun of you! She was making fun of me!”

“So, Dirk.” Amanda’s arm extends into Todd’s vision, leaning on his shoulder. She’s holding an imaginary microphone out to Dirk.

“Manda, no, not the mic bit …”

“Dirk,” Amanda says in a serious, faux-reporter voice, “What are your intentions towards my brother?”

“Oh, marriage, definitely.”

Amanda’s hand goes slack, giving the unintentional illusion that she’s dropped her imaginary mic. Todd would feel relieved that he’s finally found someone who can stop his sister’s mic bit in its tracks, if weren’t for the fact that he’s also feeling a flood of about ten different other emotions right now, and he can’t pin down any of them. Maybe he isn’t quite ready to pin them down. Not yet, anyway.

“Joke!” Dirk declares, a beat too late. “Haha …” He gets into the car very hastily and shuts the door behind him.

For a second the three of them sit in an awkward silence, but then Dirk catches Todd’s eye and sees his smile. He relaxes. Todd starts the car up. As they drive out of the parking lot, Todd is just glad that it’s probably too dark for Amanda to see the hickeys peeking out of the collar of Dirk’s jacket.

 

* * *

 

Dirk spends the car ride alternating between quizzing Amanda on how she felt about every single bath product he had ever recommended for her, and messing about with the controls of Todd’s dash until Todd ends up slapping his hands away. Dirk also demands that they stop for pizza on the way, and Todd, who’s too whipped and too background concerned that Dirk hasn’t been eating properly to refuse, pulls into a late-night pizza place so Dirk can pick something up. Ten minutes later Dirk and Amanda are stuffing pizza into their mouths, while trying to sing along to a boyband on the radio at the same time.

“Todd, Todd, Todd, hungry?”

“Amanda and I ate before we went to the mall,” says Todd, trying to hear the GPS over the sounds of the various wailing men.

“Yes, but Amanda was hungry, are you hungry?”

“I’ll get something when I get –” Todd doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Dirk flaps a slice of pizza against his mouth and Todd is left with biting down on it as the only option. “Mmph. Ye’ ‘ank you.”

Dirk either doesn’t pick up on or ignores the sarcasm in Todd’s food-muffled voice. He’s singing though, and the streetlights are casting warm shapes on his face and lighting up his eyes, so Todd doesn’t really mind. He strains surreptitiously to distinguish Dirk’s singing voice, but Dirk is apparently too hyped to do anything but yell-sing.

“ _I’m a sucker for aaa-all the subliminal things no one knows about you_ ,” Dirk sings over the GPS struggling with all its might to say ‘turn left,’ “ _and you’re maaa-akin’ a typical me break my typical rules, it’s true, I’m a sucker for you_.”

Dirk lives in a narrow slip of a two-story affair in a little cul-de-sac off a busy main road. It’s wedged on all sides by near-identical houses, the kind of thing built by real estate companies in the early 2000’s, all cheap but inoffensive red brick. Dirk’s place is instantly recognizable by the large pride flags hanging in the front window, apparently functioning as curtains – one is a rainbow, the other what Todd recognizes as the bi pride flag, and another is a yellow, white, black and purple one he doesn’t know by sight. In a window on the first floor, next to a tiny balcony mostly overtaken by plants, a smaller asexual pride flag is hanging, and Todd realizes with a faint flip in his stomach that the room beyond is probably Dirk’s bedroom.

As they pull up, the ground shakes slightly with the heavy _thump-thump-thump_ of music coming from the house next-door.

“Your neighbors like partying, I’m guessing,” Todd says.

Amanda leans forward, looking at the beat-up van parked in the driveway with interest.

“They can be a bit rowdy, yes,” says Dirk as he swings his car door open. “Oh hi, Ken!”

Ken is strolling out of Dirk’s house and down the steps; he slows on his way past the car.

“Hey, Dirk.” He looks at Todd, still sitting in the driver’s seat and currently trying to hide himself behind the steering wheel. “Hey, Dirk’s …?”

Dirk looks admiringly at Todd and beams, “Boyfriend.”

Ken smiles, faintly amused. “Right,” he waves good-night and continues down the drive.

“Who’s that?” Todd asks as Ken starts to disappear into the night.

“Huh? Oh, Ken?” Dirk is climbing out of the car and leaning down to grab the empty pizza box. “He’s my sister’s … You know I’m not actually sure what he is? Boyfriend? Business associate? Maybe partner-in-crime …? I’m going to say ‘significant-other-person.’ Either way he’s at the house eating our cereal a lot, same difference to me.”

As Dirk goes round to get his bag out of the trunk, Amanda scoots forward to lean her arms on the shoulders of Todd’s seat.

“You really hit that jealousy ball out of the park on this one, huh?” she whispers to him.

“Shut up.” Todd shrinks into the collar of his jacket.

Amanda yawns, sending a puff of pizza breath in Todd’s direction, “Don’t think I didn’t notice the glitter prints on his ass.”

“That’s from him sitting on the floor,” Todd says, then adds hurriedly, “while we talked.”

“U-huh. I bet. There’s glitter on your steering wheel, by the way. Same colour.”

Todd resists the urge to shove her in the face. “I hate you.”

“Hey, hey,” Amanda bats his arm and points.

Dirk has gotten his bag and is now climbing the steps to his front door with almost theatrically drawn-out slowness, glancing over his shoulder at Todd.

“Go _keese_ him,” Amanda says. “Do _eet_.”

Todd stops resisting; he gently shoves her in the face.

As Todd jumps out of the car and goes to meet Dirk at the front door, a noise from the window near the door catches his attention. There’s a tree growing in front of said window that partially obscures it and the pride flags, but not enough for Todd to mistake the two faces grinning out at him – Mona and Bart.

“Shush,” Dirk is trying to pull a branch down to hide them when Todd reaches him. “Stop it, both of you!”

“Dirk, I can already see them.”

Dirk lets go of the branch sheepishly, and it hits the window with a ‘thwack’ that makes Mona jump back and flee like a startled rabbit. “Sorry about them.”

“It’s fine,” Todd grins, and it is. “At least this time Bart isn’t saying anything.”

Dirk frowns, “What did she say?”

“Just something about my eyes being creepy. It’s almost funny now, I was just –”

“She said that?!” Dirk spins around and glares at Bart, “Oi! You!” He stabs the glass over Bart’s face with one finger. “We are having _words_ , Bartine!”

Bart looks back at Dirk, deadpan. Then she grins slowly and licks the glass.

Dirk jumps back with a cry of disgust, and Bart can be heard laughing like a goblin from within the house.

“Oh,” remarks Todd, “you have one too. Nice.”

“You’re cursed! _Cursed_!” Dirk shouts as Bart slopes away from view, unaffected. He turns back to Todd, looking anxious. “I’m sorry she was rude about your eyes, your eyes aren’t creepy. I never said they were creepy. She’s _always_ doing this.”

“I told you it’s fine,” Todd smiles, catching Dirk’s hand.

“But your eyes are beautiful.”

There it is against, the lovely sincerity – the first thing that drew Todd to Dirk. It draws him in now, he pulls Dirk into a tight hug, pressing his face into Dirk’s collar, and an unseen kiss to the hickey he left there earlier.

“I love you.”

He can almost feel Dirk grinning as he buries his face in Todd’s hair.

“I love you too, Todd,” Dirk whispers, pressing every inch of his body against Todd’s, and Todd’s heart is going absolutely wild, it’s singing music he’s going to have to write down the moment he gets home – and their respective sisters are less than a yard away, oh yeah. Right.

Todd pulls back, but he’s smiling what feels like a really stupid, happy smile. “You should probably go inside. You were cold before, weren’t you?”

Dirk presses closer, sliding his hands into Todd’s jacket, “Not cold anymore.”

Todd chokes a little, and Dirk takes the opportunity to kiss him. It’s another dangerously slow kiss, and Todd’s almost relieved when Amanda shouts out from the car in her brattiest voice.

“Come on, loser! I’m _sleepy_!”

Todd breaks off the kiss. “I’ll text you. I’ll call you.”

“You’d better, sir,” Dirk murmurs.

“I will. I promise.”

The car horn honks.

“Can she not see we’re being tender?” Dirk jokes feebly. His hands are holding tightly to Todd’s side.

Todd locks eyes with him. “You have my number. My full name is Todd Brotzman, one ‘z’, one ‘n.’ I live at the Ridgley, I work at the Perriman Grand. I promise, I’m taking you out on a date, and you can take me out for coffee, and you can come back to my place and we can watch _Queer Eye_. Or  _Star Wars_. Whatever you –”

Dirk kisses him again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Todd grins.

They part for the night, though Dirk’s fingers cling a little when they release each other. Dirk disappears into his house, with one smile back over his shoulder.

When Todd returns to the car, Amanda grins sleepily at him. She’s climbed back into the passenger seat. Todd’s so exhausted by this point that he can’t face even the small five-minute drive between his place and hers, so it looks like she’s getting her way and crashing at his tonight. No way is he letting her have the bed though.

As they start the journey home, Todd prepares himself for a barrage of jokes, all at his expense, but Amanda is quiet. When they get to the traffic lights he glances at her properly and sees that she’s asleep, curled up with her head at an uncomfortable-looking angle that displays all her nose hairs.

Todd turns the radio down, and is about to turn it off all together, but something makes him switch stations instead.

“… _Children_ ,” comes the crooning voice of Nick Cave, “ _lift up your voice, lift up your voice_.”

“ _Children, rejoice_ ,” mumbles Amanda from the passenger seat, as if she can sing the song in her sleep – and she probably could. “ _Rejoice_ …”

“ _Hey, little train, we’re jumpin’ on, the train that goes to the kingdom_ ,” Todd sings under his breath as his drives them home.

He wants to thank her. He wants to tell her how grateful he is for everything she’s done for him; for forgiving him, giving him a second chance, allowing him to be a part of her life. He wants to tell her how much she means, how much she’s always meant – how having her be a part of his life has given it meaning in times when nothing else could. Amanda saw him through, every single time, and he feels something better than debt for that – just gratitude, and affection, and happiness. He doesn’t feel so much like he owes her anymore, and perhaps he hasn’t fully felt like that in a while, outside his darkest moments that is. But Todd never wants to stop appreciating just how much looking after her taught him. How it was the first thing that made him realize what kind of person he wanted to be.

Todd doesn’t know where to begin with telling her that, though, so he’ll just have to show her, every single day hereafter.

In the meantime, as “O Children” winds down, he says to his sister, “I love you.”

Amanda turns in her sleep with a soft little snorting noise. “Love you too. Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> (ATTACK:) Dirk has the attack that begins at the end of the previous chapter. He falls, Todd catches him and looks after him. The main focus of the descriptions are Dirk being in obvious pain. Todd interprets this as a pararibulitis attack and acts accordingly. SPOILERS: /////// It's actually a sensory overload. ///////// END SPOILERS. Todd looks after him well and Dirk recovers quickly, though for a short time afterwards he has difficulty speaking.  
> (ABLEISM:) A late customer comes in, and when Dirk - who is still having difficulty speaking after his 'attack' - tells her to leave, she reacts in a condescending and ableist way, directing her conversation to Todd instead. Todd sticks up for Dirk and also tells her to leave, and she does.  
> (INTERNALISED ABLEISM:) Dirk feels embarrassed after his 'attack' and speaks disparagingly of himself and his ability to handle himself. Todd argues against this and comforts him.
> 
> END CW:
> 
> Notes:  
> \- Dirk's sensory overload, and Mona's, were both based on the kind of overloads me and my brother can have. Falling over is pretty extreme, (for us, anyway), but I headcanon Mona to have more difficulty with social masking and therefore more likely to give into the desire to just ... curl up on the floor in the foetal position until the noise stops. As for Dirk, he's been under a lot of strain at this point.  
> \- Sensory overloads can look very different (sometimes I just. scream tbh, which seems counterproductive, I know), and treatment/assistance plans can vary from person to person and moment to moment. For some people, being touched at all, even just to be moved or helped in anyway, can make things worse - for others, it's a comforting thing which helps to stabilise. I was taught once that some people find having gentle, steady pressure applied to their arms and legs helpful. (Doesn't work for my brother, but it works well for me as long as my bare skin isn't being touched!) When thinking about how treatment for a pararibulitis attack (when medication wasn't an option) might overlap with treatment for a sensory overload, I thought the steady pressure thing would be an appropriate detail. Luckily for Todd, everything he tried helped because Dirk just happened to be the kind of autistic/having the kind of overload that would be helped by anchoring pressure and touch - but yeah, don't use this fic as a guide for how to treat a sensory overload because oh boy can the needs of people vary.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed this fic and shared art for it! You lot are amazing, really!!! <3 I want to do a proper shout out with links to everyone's stuff, but I'll save that for the epilogue. If you've done something that I somehow haven't seen, please don't hesitate to message me at my Tumblr, linked below. I'm pretty sure I've seen everything and I've reblogged it all (it's all so beautiful), but I'd hate to miss it.
> 
> Until the epilogue, then! <3
> 
> (((pps - Thank you to everyone who wished me and my co-write-girlfriend-partner-person a happy 7th anniversary (we um!!! we got engaged holy shit so she is now my co-writer-fiancee actually))))


	13. Keep Getting Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our wordcount for this chapter is sitting much easier at 5.7K!

“It was an easy one.”

“‘An easy one?’” Todd laughs, “Go screw yourself.”

“Eeh,” Dirk pulls a face as he leans his elbows on the counter, “everything is relative.”

“Oh, is that your new thing?”

This makes for a pretty good way to spend his lunch-break. Once upon a time, Todd never would have guessed he’d one day find himself completely at peace in a bath store filled with fashionable twenty-somethings and the peppy beats of what’s almost definitely One Direction blasting over the store radio, but here he is, quarrelling with his boyfriend at the counter over crossword puzzle app.

“Todd, darling, if you actually look at it, it’s obvious. Oh, also – _21 Across_ is ‘lush.’”

Todd checks _21 Across_. Oh, dammit. “How are you so good at these? Your pop culture knowledge is … haphazard at best.”

Dirk shrugs, “I memorized it.”

“You … you memorized the crossword answers.”

“Yes.”

Todd looks down at the crossword on his phone, then back at Dirk. Usually it would be a romantic, sentimental thing to think, ‘ _we’ve been dating for nearly a year and you still find ways to surprise me_ ,’ but for one thing eleven months isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, and for another Dirk surprises him in really weird ways. Like ‘ _I have a large collection of novelty-print ties and when I get stressed out I find it soothing to hide under furniture_ ’ weird.

“All of them?”

“Well, no, obviously not _all_ of them, Todd,” Dirk says, as if that would be mad. “Just around … three-hundred and fourteen. Or so.”

“‘Or so?’ You memorized three-hundred and fourteen crossword answers?” There’s a beat, as Todd slowly – probably not slowly enough – wraps his head around this new Dirk Fun Fact. “… Why?”

Dirk’s eyes light up in a familiar way, “Well –”

“Oh no,” Todd cuts him off, “no, no, no – this is going to be one of your fucking stories, isn’t it? Something starting with there being no milk in the fridge and ending in a pub crawl where you win a rainbow jacket and a baby goat that you name Mr Grape …”

“There _is_ a pub involved, well done!”

“Dirk, it’s my lunch break, I’m not –”

Dirk leans over the counter towards him with a smile, “You like my stories.”

Todd hums in a way that’s sort of ambiguous but mostly unimpressed, going back to his crossword. “Do I?”

“I know you do,” Dirk says in his sweetest, most coy voice. “You like _me_. I’ve been reliably informed.”

“Have you?” Todd says, holding back a smile.

“Mhmm,” Dirk says lowly, “ _very_ reliably informed. Very _insistently_ and passionately informed, if memory serves me …”

Todd keeps his face deadpan, even as he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Dirk reaching for his free hand, which is resting on his edge of the counter. Todd has full plans to let him take it, of course, but Dirk never actually manages to get there before a heavily laden plastic basket lands pins him to the counter, and he snatches back his hand with a yelp.

“Oh _no_ , Dirk,” says Panto with absolutely zero apology in his voice but a great deal of fondness, “do watch where you put your hands at work, won’t you? Health and safety, you know.”

“Oww-wuh,” whines Dirk, massaging his wounded hand and pulling exactly the kind of pouty face which reassures Todd that his boyfriend is perfectly fine. “Panto …”

“I have full confidence you’ll recover from the blow,” Panto says, “And once you do, that you’ll start ringing up these items? That young person in the perfumes is choosing between two, but they’ll be over here soon.”

Panto moves onto helping another customer, and Dirk ignores him in favor of displaying the faint red mark on his hand to Todd. “Todd, look at that! Did you see what he just did to me? This is workplace abuse –”

Todd takes Dirk’s hand and presses a light, quick kiss to the pathetic excuse for an injury, silencing him instantly.

“Do your job, Dirk,” Todd reminds him with a grin.

Dirk just smiles as Todd releases his hand, looking very pleased with himself, as well as slightly pink. Todd can easily guess that getting a kiss on the hand was Dirk’s main motive all along, but it’s also obvious that he’s genuinely surprised he actually got it. Dirk tends to be like that about affection, but if Todd thinks too hard about why that is, he starts feeling sad and angry, so it’s best to just enjoy Dirk’s smile. It’s one of Todd’s favorite smiles in the world, after all.

And Todd is smiling back at him, something he only realizes when they’re interrupted by the arrival of Dirk’s customer, and Dirk is startled into action on the various goods in the plastic basket. Todd shoots him one more grin and sidles off out of the way.

He settles instead into the corner of the face creams section to wait for Dirk to finish with the customer. He’s staring down at his crossword and trying to think of an eleven-letter word for ‘give encouragement,’ when he hears someone close by grumbling, “Aw, fuck …”

The speaker is in their late teens, a kid with a bad red dye-job in his spiky hair, wearing the sort of shitty band merch that used to make up a majority of Todd’s teenage wardrobe. He’s standing in front of the towering shelves of various creams and masks with a daunted, fed-up look that Todd recognizes.

“Hey, you need a hand with anything?”

The kid looks up, twitchily, “Huh?”

“It’s cool if you’re just browsing, I just thought if there was something I could help with …”

“Oh, um. Nah, man, it’s cool. Just browsing,” he mumbles, the tips of his ears turning the same color as his hair.

“Okay.” Todd goes back to his crossword and waits.

Ten minutes of shuffling and muttering later, the teen says hesitantly, “Hey, uh … These bar things, what’s the difference between them and the moisturizers? Like are they just solid, or …”

“The solid serums? Sorta. They’re kind of like moisturizers, just like … more intense, basically. They work the same, you massage them into your skin, but they’re more like a specialized treatment to balance things out.” Todd puts his phone away, moving to see exactly what the kid is looking at. “Do you get dry skin a lot?”

“Oh, it’s not for me, it’s for my dad,” the kid says, then immediately turns a deeper shade of red, as if this is somehow the most embarrassing thing he could have possibly said.

Todd knows enough about how that feels not to try and comfort him, so he just says, “Okay, cool. What kind of skin does he have?”

For the expression on the kid’s face, Todd may as well have asked him a complicated algebraic question. “Um …”

“Like really dry skin, or acne, maybe redness …?”

“He’s got pretty red skin? And like … Um …” The kid winces, fidgeting with the pockets of his ripped jeans. “I was actually looking for like … like something that could help with scarring? Like on the face …?”

“Oh yeah, easy,” Todd says, reaching for a couple of toners. “A ton of these help with that, you just have to look for words like ‘brightening’ and ‘toning.’ They vary with how much they can help, though, and the more intense the scars the harder it is to shift them; you basically just have to be patient and help it fade gently over time. This one’s pretty good, but it can be kinda harsh, so if he’s got ruddiness …”

Todd talks the teenager through a handful of different masks, toners, and creams for the next ten minutes, and the kid begins to relax slowly, especially after Todd manages to shoehorn in a reference to the Sound of Nothing Music Festival when he recognizes a badge on the kid’s bag. Soon Todd is being treated to a update on the semi-underground post-post-punk scene in Western Montana, which leads into the kid complaining about how overrated the DJ scene is in Seattle, which in turn leads to him admitting that the whole reason he came into the bath store was to get something nice from the city to take home for his dad. By the time they’re interrupted the kid has introduced himself as Scott and he and Todd are deep in a friendly debate over the merits of Scarlett brand interfaces vs PreSonus.

“The Focusrites just look cooler, trust me,” Todd is arguing, “the PreSonus actually comes with software if you get the right bundle –”

“No one _uses_ Studio One,” protests Scott.

“Maybe not anyone who cares more about being cool than working smart, yeah,” Todd snorts. “Seriously, if you actually check out the latest update you can see it’s only getting more and more user-friendly; with that price you get way more for your money than if you get separate software and interface, _and_ if you’re just starting out you’re better off putting that money into a decent MIDI keyboard –”

“Uh oh, got him talking about MIDI keyboards, huh?” Amanda, dressed in full uniform plus glitter-covered black apron, slings an arm around Todd’s shoulders, greeting him with a sentimental, “Hey, loser.”

“Oh hey, I didn’t know you had a shift today.”

“Eh, Panto called, said he wanted his best casual in,” she says, “and I wanted out of the house – and yes, the bus was fine, before you fuss.”

Todd shrugs off her arm with a half-smile, “Wasn’t going to, promise.”

“A likely story.” Turning to Scott she says, “Hey dude, sorry about our store gnome here. He’s not bothering you, is he? We’ve tried to get him to leave but one of the guys keeps feeding him bread.”

Scott looks confused, “Uh, he was helping me with …”

“Again, Todd? You know you don’t actually work here.”

“You don’t?” Scott turns his surprise, mingling now with faint wariness, on Todd.

“I don’t, sorry,” he admits, “I just know a lot about the products, and you looked kind of lost. I remember the first time I came here it was all pretty overwhelming. The products and the staff,” he adds with a wry look at Amanda. “What was that thing you told a customer once about a bath bomb? ‘Goth night-dream fuel?’”

“Hey, any bath bomb that spits out black jelly that turns into black glittery water and smells like a magic potion was always gonna be my fave.”

“Black jelly?” echoes Scott, with an enthusiasm Todd sees him quickly try to hide the moment it slips out of him.

Amanda spies the enthusiasm and leaps on it straightaway. “Dude, you haven’t seen it? I’ve got to show you, it’s the shit – the jelly’s all like, squishy too – come on, I’ll do a demo and you can touch it. Todd, you’ll help, right –”

Todd’s phone alarm goes off in his pocket. “Ah, shit. No, I’m gonna have to leave you to it. Got to get back to campus, I’ve got Zimmerfield next and he’s always really weird about late walk-ins.”

“Zimmerfield. Isn’t that the one who held you back after class and lowkey interrogated you about your ‘whereabouts?’”

“That’s the guy.” Todd hits snooze on the alarm and turns to go. “It was cool talking, Scott. I should probably get back to Bergsberg one of these days, if Sound of Nothing has gotten that diverse. Last time I was there was like …” He shakes that memory out of his head before it can take root. “Anyway. Don’t let my sister make you buy any shit you don’t want – save for the PreSonus.”

“Dude, I’m not getting the PreSonus, the Focusrite is –”

“Is this what you’re gonna be like to all your students?” Amanda says at the same time. “Worst music teacher ever, just one big PreSonus shill. Disgusting to see what capitalism has done to you, Toddy.”

“Good- _bye_ , Amanda.” Todd waves to Scott, and dodges Amanda’s parting punch to his arm.

“Worst teacher ever!” Amanda calls after him proudly.

Up at the counter Dirk is bidding a different customer goodbye with a bagful of bath bombs, just in time for Todd to step behind the counter and pull him aside, mostly into the backroom and mostly out of sight of the store proper.

“I’m heading back, I’ll meet you here later?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Dirk says, glancing out towards the counter for any more customers, and probably for Panto, before leaning in to give Todd a quick kiss. “Oh, and Bart texted. Classically ominous. Says she wants ‘the goods,’ whatever  _that_ means.”

Todd rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll drop by on my way to the parking lot. And, Dirk?”

“Yes?”

Todd pulls him further into the doorway, until the slightly dimmer backroom lights fall over them both. “We’re …? We’re still on for tonight, right? Because if you’ve changed your mind –”

Dirk cuts him off with another kiss, less quick this time. When he draws back, his smile glows shyly. “I haven’t.”

And, as always, Todd feels himself reflect the same light back. “Okay.” He pulls Dirk in for a third kiss, this one the opposite of quick. It lasts until Dirk’s hand brushes against Todd’s hip, and Todd’s alarm buzzes again, and Dirk pulls away with an equally alarmed squeak.

“You dork, it’s just my phone.”

Dirk laughs in relief, “Oh my god … Honestly, my brain thought it was some kind of security alarm – the Universe just doesn’t want me to touch you today …”

“I dunno,” Todd smiles, “the day’s not over yet, is it?”

Dirk stops laughing and goes quiet, his face easing back into that glowing smile. Todd takes Dirk’s hand, kissing it once more and grinning at the pink flushing over Dirk’s cheeks. Eleven months, and Dirk still reacts the way he did the first time Todd flirted with him, if Todd manages to take him even a little by surprise.

“Love you,” Todd says.

“Love you too,” Dirk smiles.

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later Todd is hurrying across the mall, power-walking his way to Bart’s key-cutting stand.

“Hiya, Todd,” she drawls as he approaches. She’s sharpening a decent-sized peasant knife against a strip of leather, grinning at him the whole time.

A year ago, he would have been very nervous about this behavior. Now, he barely glances at it, digging in his bag.

“Hey, so, Bart,” he says as he empties half his bag on her counter, looking for the ‘goods.’ “I appreciate it. I get how it is. But you’ve got to stop finding excuses to give me weird shovel-talks.”

Bart makes a show of a particularly long sweep of the knife against the leather.

“And I know that’s just Silas’ whittling knife, I saw it on Instagram last week. Next to that … was it meant to be a moon? Moon with a face … thing?”

Bart puts down the knife with an only slightly sullen grunt. “Yeah.” She looks down at it, eyeballing the edge. “Kinda hoping he’s gonna give up the whole carvin’ thing soon. S’worse than the knitting.”

“He’s a stupidly rich trophy husband, he needs something to do besides stopping his mom from nagging Panto about respectable hair. Anyway, I thought you liked sharpening knives.”

“Yeah, but it just gets sad after a while, ya’ know? Like … seein’ him treat ‘em like this.” She shakes her head at the peasant knife. “Dude’s shit with knives, he just keeps wreckin’ ‘em.” She peers into Todd’s bag, suddenly distressed. “Hey, you didn’t forget it, did ya’?”

“No, got it.” Todd pulls out the wrapped sandwich, slightly squashed from being pinned under his notebook and water bottle. “Sorry, it’s kinda –”

Bart snatches it out of his hand and starts trying to rip off the clingfilm with her teeth.

“O-kay … Yeah, maybe don’t …”

Before Todd can properly intervene, she’s got enough open to sink her teeth into the sandwich properly, the pasta filling making an unpleasant squishing noise as she does so.

“Jesus. Okay, I’m going to class.”

Bart waves him goodbye by miming a cheerful throat-slitting motion with the knife, her cheeks bulging with pasta sandwich.

 

* * *

 

Todd manages to get to class just before Zimmerfield shuts the door, slipping past him with a sheepish grin and getting a flat look of exasperation in reply. Once he’s inside, though, it’s difficult to focus as class begins, and Bart squeezing in one more ‘hurt my brother and they’ll never find your body’ moment didn’t exactly help. He knows Bart and Mona both like him, in their own ways, but they’re also both capable of being terrifying, in their own ways. And he’s terrified about this enough without Bart sharpening knives at him, or Mona cornering him in the backroom and telling him in disconcerting detail about the book on snake-venom poisons she was reading.

It’s hard, even these days, for Todd to stop himself from getting caught up in the feeling that everything he’s worked for, everything he’s built since he met Dirk, is going to fall away underneath him if he makes one wrong move. And tonight is a _big_ move. A really big move. So Todd worries his way through class, tapping his pen against his paper until the student next to him shoots him an irritated look. Beneath the drone of Zimmerfield and the rest of the class, Todd’s mind is full of anxious voices.

_What if it’s too fast?_

_It’s way too fast. This is crazy. I’m crazy._

_Dirk is crazy and it’s sort of my favorite thing about him._

_But what if I’m just pushing him to do this? Like what if it’s just for me, and he’s doing it just to please me, and eventually it’s all too much for him and I’m not worth the effort anymore and –_

Todd stops the whirlpool in its tracks. He takes a deep breathe. He repeats the key phrases he’s been telling himself over and over in the past few weeks.

_This is me and Dirk. He wants this move too. We’ve thought about it. We’ve talked about it. And we love each other._

_It’ll be okay, and even if it isn’t okay, we’ll handle that together._

Todd tries to put the anxious parts of the nerves aside and focus on the nicer part – the excitement. The energy in his bouncing leg, the little houses he doodles where he should be writing notes, the way his stomach is full of those happy butterflies he’s been feeling more times in the nineteen months since he met Dirk than in the last ten years put together.

Todd is still a little nauseous, and he’s definitely distracted, and if he manages to participate in the class discussion at all he doesn’t remember it, but he’s only terrified in the slightly delightful ways. He’s looking forward to it.

And when the class winds to a close and the first of his fellow students start filtering out of the room, Todd finds out that he wasn’t alone in feeling too much anticipation to sit still. He doesn’t even get a chance to pack up his stuff before he’s suddenly enveloped from the side in a very forceful hug.

“Dirk!” Todd wraps an arm around his waist in surprise. “Dirk, oh my god, are you okay?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine, sorry,” Dirk chatters, “I just couldn’t wait for you to get back to the store and Panto let me off early; I think he saw me vibrating in the soap section, or maybe it was the intermittent grinning – But how are you? Are you okay? I’m not hugging you too hard?”

Todd laughs and responds by hugging Dirk back, even harder.

“Todd,” comes a dry voice from the front of the room, “if you don’t mind?”

Todd looks around Dirk to see that the classroom is empty but for the two of them, and a faintly annoyed Zimmerfield, who is still sitting at one of the desks.

“It’s very sweet, but if you could have this rendezvous somewhere else?” Zimmerfield indicates his open laptop, from which is emanating the Skype video chat ringtone. “I have a long-distance student now.”

“Right, yeah – ‘course, sorry …” Todd disentangles himself and both he and Dirk scramble to collect his stuff. There’s a small scuffle over his notebook when Dirk takes it into his head to carry it for Todd in lieu of any other books.

In the background Zimmerfield’s call starts up, though, and Todd can’t help overhearing that instead of recapping the lecture, Zimmerfield and his ‘student’ just start gossiping. Something about social hierarchy in small town law enforcement, or possibly something to do with an office spat. Either way, Todd definitely feels less guilty by the time he’s leading Dirk out of the room, passing Zimmerfield’s desk on the way.

“Have a good weekend, then,” Todd says, a little pointedly.

Zimmerfield waves his petty dissention away without looking at him, only pausing to say, “Shut the door behind you, Brotzman. Estevez, have you considered just talking about this with Ms Black? It may be possible that she didn’t mean to slight you on the Boreton case last Spring – Well, no, I don’t really think a shooting range _would_ be the best place to bring it up …”

Dirk pulls a silent ‘yikes’ face at Todd. Todd snorts and tugs him out of the room, the door falling shut behind them. The moment they’re in the hall, they both burst into badly muffled laughter.

“ _Excuse_ me, Mr Brotzman,” says Dirk in a mockingly bland drawl, “please. The classroom isn’t the place for _romance_ , or _cuddling_. Can’t you _see_ I have my important side-job as an Agony Aunt to attend to?”

“Stop it,” Todd laughs, pushing him in the side as they start down the hall, “we were being _that_ couple, no wonder he got –”

“But I love being ‘ _that_ couple’ with you,” Dirk smiles.

Todd feels a thrill of utter joy, so bright it bursts out of him in a grin, “Me too.”

They keep laughing and giggling as they walk, and Dirk keeps stumbling slightly, even more so with Todd tugging him closer by the hand to press quick kisses to his cheek. It’s late afternoon, and the hallway is mostly deserted; they only pass two people on the way to the stairwell, and once they’re inside their voices echo alone against the concrete stairs and walls. Todd barely waits for the door to swing shut before he pulls Dirk into more kisses.

“You’re a nerd,” Todd mumbles as a sweet nothing against Dirk’s mouth.

“Should be a possessive pronoun in there somewhere, I think,” Dirk replies smartly. “You should know this, darling, you’re going to be a teacher.” He kisses Todd again, then takes the lead, rushing them both down the stairs at a half-run.

Todd is giddy with happiness and with just trying to keep his footing as Dirk pulls him by the hand down two flights of stairs, and his unrestrained laughter echoes so loudly it’s probably a wonder that neither an attack nor an overload takes place. Some days they get lucky, though, and today the excitement of the moment carries them through to the parking lot.

“God, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Todd says as they reach his car, both slightly breathless.

“I mean, I’d hope so. What with all the preparation, at this point I’d feel very foolish if things didn’t go ahead.”

“But is this crazy?” Todd opens the driver’s side and gets in. “Like, are we crazy?”

“Crazy? Nooo! No, we are … two …” Dirk slides in next to him, wearing one of his more thoughtful, if slightly goofy expressions. “Two super chill … normal guys.”

“Totally chill!”

“Oh, extremely chill.”

“Really normal. Almost boring, even,” Todd suggests.

“Exactly, just two boring, sane guys,” Dirk agrees, “taking a step that … feels right to us.”

“Right,” Todd grins, and starts up the car.

“Right,” Dirk grins back, reaching for radio.

Todd slaps his hand away out of habit.

 

* * *

 

The community college campus isn’t far from Todd’s apartment building. When they pull into the usual parking spot, the magic hour is just beginning to fall – and, quietly, Todd thinks that that’s appropriate. It feels right, in a gentle, settling kind of way that picks out tiny everyday details of the afternoon and highlights them in golden bands of sunlight. Dirk’s hair catching the breeze and the light, stray strands turning red. The cardboard box he pulls from the trunk, placed there earlier when Todd picked him up for work that morning. The crispness of Winter to the air, and the way it makes Dirk huddle up against Todd like he always does in the cold. Todd wraps an arm around Dirk to keep him warm, and they cross the road to the Ridgely together.

There isn’t much ceremony beyond that contented, easy quiet. As soon as they get inside Dirk swears at how freezing it is and dumps his box on the bed, and Todd laughs as Dirk scurries around the room cursing the cold and turning on the space heaters. Todd lets him get them running, then catches him by the wrist.

“Hey,” Todd says softly, and takes something from the bookcase closest to the door. He offers it to Dirk with a smile. “Welcome home.”

Dirk stares down at the ring of keys that Todd is holding out, his face flitting through different expressions almost faster than the speed of light.

Todd hadn’t mentioned the keys, but he’d assumed they’d be okay. After all, if Dirk is going to live here now, he’ll need his own keys, right?

Todd swallows his nerves, and keeps the keys extended. “I know it’s just … Like, we said, it’s just a formality, really. I mean, you’ve practically been living here since we got together, and I know we said it would help with rent while I’m still doing my course –”

Dirk throws himself into a kiss with so little warning that he knocks Todd back and they sprawl onto the bed. A head injury is only narrowly avoided, but Dirk is showering Todd with kisses, and clasping Todd’s hand around the keys, and Todd is laughing again. Groaning a little, too, because Dirk’s cardboard box is jutting into his side.

“Okay – Dirk, hold – Hang on, love, your box is …” Todd struggles to sit up, even though Dirk is still half on top of him and peppering the side of his face with more kisses.

“I love you, I love you, I love you …” he’s saying happily, with a sweetness that disarms Todd until it’s cut short by Dirk snatching the keys out of his hand, victoriously. “My keys, haha! Good luck throwing me out now, Todd!”

“They’re … _I_ got them cut for you!” Todd points out, deciding not to tell Dirk yet exactly how long ago he got them cut, and sending up a silent prayer that Bart doesn’t choose to tell Dirk on one of her more ambivalently destructive whims.

“Yes, and now you’ve made the mistake of giving them to me.” Dirk admires the keys as if they’re made of something far more precious than brass, holding them up to the orange-golden sunlight cutting through the opening in the curtains. “And now you’ll never be rid of me.”

“That's the plan, yeah,” Todd mutters, biting back a smile. He glances down at the box, which is labelled – erroneously, he can only hope – ‘SHARK.’ “Why did you bring this up? I thought we were doing the actual move tomorrow and Sunday?”

“Yes, but this is _symbolic_ , silly.”

“Symbolic, of course. Should have known that, my bad.”

“Don’t worry, I know you do your best to keep up.”

“I’m sorry, ‘my _best_?’”

“And it has important things in it.”

Todd narrows his eyes. Dirk’s ideas of ‘important things’ can range from endearing all the way to concerning. “Like what?”

“I’m very glad you asked that, Todd!” Dirk flips open the box with the same showmanship he uses to unveil limited edition bath bombs.

Inside is … a random collection of goods and belongings. Nothing strictly necessary. Dirk already keeps a stash of clothes and pajamas here, and he’s had his own toothbrush and other assorted overnight products at Todd’s apartment for a very long time; (Todd’s bathroom cabinet is just about full to bursting with hair products).

But Todd recognizes almost everything in the box, and he feels his heart swell at the sight of them. The little bear he’d gotten Dirk as a very late Valentine’s present, only a week after their first date. The cheap jade stone ring he’d given Dirk for his birthday last year, which Dirk wore until it turned his finger green and everyone they knew had begged him to stop wearing it. A broken wristwatch they’d dug out of the sand on a trip to the beach. Childhood marbles that Todd had passed onto Dirk because Dirk had said he ‘loved the tiny universes’ inside, and the Mexican Funeral shirt he’d put aside for Dirk before they’d even started dating. Two animal masks from the zoo, a medieval hat purchased during Silas’ Ren Faire phase, and a magician’s lightbulb. Many other bits and pieces asides, which Todd doesn’t immediately recognize but can guess the origins of; paper cocktail umbrellas, a ripped lotto ticket from 2016, a little plastic bag of confetti, a miniature toy car, a bent spoon …

“These are …”

“They’re all the things I kept in my room,” Dirk says. “To keep you close. For when I had to go to sleep in a bed that didn’t have you in it. I suppose I don’t really need them for that anymore, but …” He runs his fingers over the soft cotton of Todd’s old band shirt, in a hallowed way that makes Todd shiver, as if Dirk is brushing his hand against Todd’s heart. “I thought I could use a few. For decorations.”

Todd leans forward, meaning to move the box out of the way – because decorating is suddenly the last thing on his mind – but Dirk stops him.

“No, really, Todd.” He pushes the shirt aside, and pulls something out from behind it – a piece of card framed on a deep blue background.

A bell in Todd’s mind rings at the jagged, ripped shape of the card, but it’s not until he sees his own handwriting, his number, and the bunch of wonky buttercups drawn on one side that he really recognizes what it is.

“I …” Dirk takes a breath. “I’d really like to put this one up now. It’s my favorite.”

Todd smiles. “I’ll get a hook.”

They choose a spot for it by the door, and Todd, confident by now in his ability to spackle up holes better than his landlord ever could, finds a nail to hammer into the wall. Dirk stands back and directs while Todd tries to get the angle right, even though that’s difficult when Dirk’s version of ‘a little to the left’ has a fifty-fifty chance of actually meaning ‘a little to the right.’ When Dirk declares it perfect and Todd backs up next to him, the last of the afternoon sun casts their shadows high and long on the wall on either side of the framed card, merging into one shape when Todd moves in closer, and Dirk winds his arm around Todd’s shoulders.

Todd is dimly aware that for most people, moving in with his boyfriend of less-than-a-year probably rates as a stupidly crazy idea. Or if not crazy, then at least stupidly naïve, or stupidly hopeful. Todd finds it a little hard to feels like he’s being stupidly hopeful though, considering how hard he's worked - how hard he still works every day, to be the person standing here next to Dirk, in an apartment that is now theirs.

 _And I like him_ , says the voice in Todd’s mind, the one which sometimes still feels small, but always feels true on his most clear-headed days. _I really like him. And I have this feeling –_

“I … know I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” Dirk says slowly. “It’s probably not very … chill or – or boring and sane of me. But I just get this feeling that …”

Todd starts to smile, but he doesn’t turn his head, still looking at the card framed on the wall.

“That you’re … Well, that you might be – er … That you’re probably going to be …”

He can hear the blush in Dirk’s voice.

“My … My person.”

Todd has to force himself not to start, or begin to laugh – just from happiness, and love, and all this feeling in his heart and his throat, and all the voices in his head that sing ‘ _this is right, this feels so right_.’

“I can say that, can’t I?” Dirk rambles on. “That’s not too much? Just – my person. Yes. Let’s say that. My person.”

Todd meets his eyes, trying to let Dirk see him as fully as possible. “I know.”

Todd knows he’s in real danger of crying, but he’s not going to let himself look away – and it’s a good thing he doesn’t, because otherwise he would have missed seeing that Dirk’s eyes are bright too. Bright and happy, and slightly terrified in all the best ways.

“My person,” Todd says quietly, reaching up to Dirk’s cheek at the same second that Dirk drops his head just enough to rest their foreheads together.

They stand like that for a long moment, as the setting sun begins to turn their apartment hazy pink around them. Then Todd shifts, and his gaze lands on the bowl on the kitchen countertop, which is full of whole and unbroken bath bombs, some still in their packages, some home-made.

A grin steals across Todd’s face. “Hey, Dirk. Want to have a bath?”

Dirk laughs, pulling him closer. “Oh, sir. I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who reviewed as I posted this fic, incredible thanks to those of you who left comments on multiple chapters or even every single one. It really helped me get a sense of where my readers were at, which helped the editing process a lot and made posting something to always look forward to. And thank you to everyone who engaged with it on Tumblr, again, you guys all made this fic so much fun to write and share and made me feel so appreciated. The response I got was just overwhelmingly lovely and it really means a lot to me that people connected with my stuff.
> 
> Thank you so, so much to the people who made and put up art related to this fic; CornChrunchie, Flags, and Benjie! I’ve linked below, please check them out if you haven’t already, they’re all fantastic. And shout-out to Kieren for sending me an edit they made too! I love all of the pieces so much.
> 
> [CornChrunchie’s gif and manip!](https://cornchrunchie.tumblr.com/post/186767981139/cheer-up-buttercup-chapter-1)  
> [Flag’s art!](https://thecreepingkid.tumblr.com/post/187298236811)  
> [Benjie’s art!](https://benjiedrawings.tumblr.com/post/187465797463/cheer-up-buttercup-by-teacupsandcyanide-is-one-of)
> 
> There’s [a tag for this fic on my blog](https://teacupsandcyanide.tumblr.com/tagged/cheer-up-buttercup), as well as this [content page](https://teacupsandcyanide.tumblr.com/cub), which has links to the playlist I made and the pinterest board.
> 
> And thank you, of course very much so and I'm sorry I just remembered this now, to my partner Jack for beta-reading and helping to edit this fic, including staying up late before work, telling to me cut out unnecessary bullshit, and pep-talking me on days during the drafting process when I lay face-down on my bed whining that no one would care about it when it was done. Please check out [her fics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder/works?fandom_id=12284380), this one couldn't have been as good without her help.
> 
> I stay involved with my fics pretty much for years after first posting them, so please never hesitate to tip your author with reviews/comments, which always, always make my day, and on the off-chance than anyone makes stuff they’d like to share please send it to my via [my Tumblr](https://book-whims.tumblr.com) so I can see it and love it and add it to the little list above.
> 
> Thanks, buttercups!


End file.
